Not a Potter After All
by darkorangecat
Summary: Shortly after Voldemort's return it is discovered that Harry Potter is not the biological son of Lily and James Potter. He is in fact the son of John and Mary Winchester.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners (Harry Potter, JK Rowling; "Supernatural", Eric Kripke). The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This is AU. It is set after fourth year in the Harry Potter series and pre-Supernatural series. Ages of the boys: Dean 16; Harry 14 going on 15; Sammy 12 (Dean, January 24th, 1979; Harry, July 31st, 1980; Sammy, May 2nd, 1983). Will feature an 'abused' Harry and a protective John as well as Dean. The year is 1994.

**Spoilers:** for Harry Potter books 1-5 and Supernatural season 1

* * *

Prologue

Dumbledore stared hard at the witch sitting across from him. She had contacted him a week ago claiming to have valuable information regarding Harry James Potter. She claimed to have worked for the Potters before their untimely deaths and, as such, had witnessed the events unfolding around their precious son's birth.

"Bathsida, why didn't you reveal any of this earlier?" Dumbledore enquired patiently. The old witch sitting across from him looked frail and as though she could drop dead at any moment.

"Don't you be hasty to judge old Bathsida," she chided, poking a crooked finger in the headmaster's face, "I assumed that the child would be well cared for in Lily's sister's home and saw no reason to reveal the truth. Now that Voldemort is back and after talking with Mrs. Figg, well I have my doubts as to Harry's safety in that Muggle home." She handed a folder of papers over to Dumbledore, "Here, you look at these and come to your own understanding of what happened young man," and with that Bathsida stood and left.

* * *

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice held a note of well-checked anger, "please just perform the test for me. It is imperative to his safety that I know for sure whether or not Harry is the son of Lily and James Potter."

"Fine, but it is obvious that the boy is a Potter. He is the spitting image of James. I've also heard that he has his mother's eyes," Severus rolled his eyes. "You know, you really shouldn't listen to old hags," Severus sneered as he turned back to his potion, putting the final ingredients Dumbledore had gathered for him in and stirring counterclockwise once and then clockwise twice. Eyes widening in surprise, both men beheld the answer within the potion that Severus had reluctantly brewed.

"How? Why?" Severus whispered.

"Lily was highly gifted in charms and potions," Dumbledore smiled sadly as he turned to leave the frowning potions master. Fingering an old faded photograph of a young blonde-haired woman with strikingly beautiful green eyes to rival Lily's and a man with a disheveled shock of black hair, Dumbledore exited the room. _Perhaps Lily hadn't needed to use charms on her 'son' after all, he could easily be 'mistaken' as the son of the smiling couple in the photograph as well as the son of Lily and James Potter. _The photo slipped unnoticed from his fingers as his thoughts went to the boy in Number 4 Privet Drive.

_Potter is not a Potter, how is that possible?_ Severus glared at the potion, giving it one final clockwise stir. _Still not a Potter… _

Finished with his brewing, Severus stalked out of his potions office. _The boy wasn't even a blood relation to her and she had died for him. She had placed her own life on the line for a 'son' whom she and James had all but adopted. Sure, she had carried him in her womb for nine months, but the boy wasn't even truly her own. How could she so foolishly have risked her life for the child of two strangers?_

A discarded square of paper caught his attention and he bent to pick it up. Intent upon his thoughts, he reluctantly turned it over in hopes of discovering who the tattered _love note _belonged to, for surely that was what it was, a lost love note mistakenly left behind at the end of term. Much to his astonishment it was a picture of a young man and woman. They had their arms intertwined about each other's waists and a look of true joy on their faces.

_Could this couple be Potter's true parents? Her eyes were not an exact match to Lily's, but they were close and Potter looked strikingly similar to the young man in the photograph. Harry, for he was no longer a Potter, resembled this man much more so than he did James. Lily had only had to do a few simple charms on the boy to ensure that he got her eyes and James' poor eyesight, Severus thought rather unkindly, grudgingly admitting that Harry looked much more like the man in the photograph than his old school rival. Wouldn't Sirius be in for a shock? _

Severus grinned maliciously, wishing he could bear witness to the old Marauder's comeuppance. The betrayal of a friend, however innocent, was still painful and Severus knew that it would hurt Sirius to know that his best friend had lied to him or, at the very least, had not trusted him with the complete truth_. _Chuckling to himself, Severus made his way to the Headmaster's office, taking another look at the photograph in his hand, wondering if the couple pictured were even magical or if Lily had somehow altered Harry's genetic make-up to ensure that he would be born a wizard. _Or maybe it had been enough for the fetus to have been carried in the womb of a witch? Intriguing..._


	2. Inception Part I: The Winchesters

**Disclaimer: **See prologue

A/N: The first baby to be born using the in vitro fertilization process was born on July 25th, 1978 in England.

Topeka, Kansas, is about a 32 minute drive from Lawrence, Kansas, and I thought I would set the 'fertility' clinic there as opposed to Lawrence as Topeka is a bigger and better known city in Kansas than Lawrence. Check out Google or Yahoo maps if you would like to get a visual of the area.

Spoiler for SN, season 4, "In the Beginning"

AU and swearing.

* * *

Inception Part I: The Winchesters

April 3rd, 1978; Topeka, Kansas, Fertility Clinic

"Mary, are you sure you want to go through with this?" John asked his wife for what must've been the hundredth time since they left the house that morning.

"John," Mary smiled at her husband, "we've gone over this a hundred times." She rolled her eyes as she took John's hand in hers, pulling him through the white doors of the small fertility clinic, "This is something I want to do. I thought you wanted to do it too."_ When Dr. Benson had broached the subject of in vitro fertilization after she had been told that she would be unable to conceive children, she had latched onto it, convinced that it would work. The fact that it was experimental and had never been attempted in the United States did not frighten her in the least. She believed it would work; besides, she had never been one to shirk away from anything no matter the risk involved. _

_John had been a little harder to convince. He had a good, kind heart, but was skeptical. He read all of the information that Dr. Benson provided them with and agreed to the procedure four months later. Thankfully he was a sucker for her 'puppy dog eyes' and would do anything to make her happy. _

"It's just," John struggled to find the right words, "well, it's experimental isn't it? I mean, the doctors don't even know if this will work. Maybe we should wait until that other baby is born first. What if something goes wrong? " _Fertilization of an egg outside of the womb was experimental at best. The first baby conceived through this process was due in late July of this year to a couple in England. The doctors were taking every precaution known to man to ensure that the fetus would survive the pregnancy and be delivered healthy and intact. There was also some concern that the mother might not survive the process either and that had John terrified. He didn't know what he would do if he ever lost Mary, the love of his life._

"John," Mary's voice softened, "this is the only way we can have a family. I want to have children; I thought you wanted to have children too."

"I do, it's just," again, John paused, searching for the right words, "maybe we should wait a little longer. That – what do they call it again? In vito? – may not even work." The unspoken words, _I don't want to lose you, _hung in the air between them.

"In vitro John," Mary smiled at her husband's clumsiness with the words, masking her own fears and nerves as she tried to comfort her husband.

January 22nd, 1978, St. Mary's Hospital, Topeka, Kansas

_It had come as a shock when the doctor informed them that, because of scarring on her fallopian tubes, she may never be able to have children. John had not been angry when he learned that she was unable to conceive a child, he had been loving and accepting. He had been perfect throughout it all, comforting her in her grief and holding her as she cried. It was she who had gotten angry and protested the diagnosis, demanding a second opinion._

_She didn't reveal that the probable source of that 'scarring' was an encounter with an angry poltergeist ten years ago. Instead, she claimed to have been involved in a car accident when she was younger. The resulting 'surgery' helped explain the scarring. Neither the doctor nor John doubted her explanation. _

_In spite of her father's insistent warnings, she had never revealed her true upbringing to the man she had married against her father's wishes. Her father had protested her involvement with the mechanic, preferring that she marry another hunter instead. They had argued virtually non-stop about it, neither willing to capitulate. Now that her father and mother were dead, she had convinced herself that John didn't need to know the truth. That he would be better off not knowing that she had grown up fighting monsters which could only be found in the darkest of fairytales. _

_The far-reaching effects of those encounters had left her bitter and angry. But when John had come along, she had begun to entertain the thought of having a 'normal' life, complete with a loving husband, a home and children. She had never been allowed to build simple childhood memories like other little girls her age. As a child she had craved the normality of playing with a dollhouse or having make-believe tea parties with friends rather than helping her father seek out and rid the world around them of nasty supernatural beings. _

_Her children, she was determined that she __**would **__have them, would not grow up that way. She would make sure of it. She had not chosen that life for herself and was unwilling to drag her unsuspecting husband or children into it either. She wanted nothing more than to have a 'normal' life with a 'normal' family. The yellow-eyed-demon, who had brought John back to life five years ago on the very day he proposed to her, had all but promised it with his little speech about how she was going to have a, "'normal' life with a white picket fence, station wagon, and a couple a kids." _

_It was just meant to be, she could feel it in her bones, and she would do all she could to make it happen. Even something that was experimental. After all, the demon would be visiting her again in another five years to fulfill the contract she had made with him for John's life. He had promised it wasn't her soul that he wanted, just permission to, "swing by the house for something." Demons lied._

_There was no way in Hell the yellow-eyed-son- of- a- bitch was going to get another chance at ruining her or John's lives. A hunter named Dean claimed that there was a way to kill demons. He had disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared around the time the demon had shown up, and there was something about him which had seemed hauntingly familiar to her. It was almost like he was family, though maybe that was simply because he was a fellow hunter. _

_She had made a promise to Dean at the time not to act on a certain night if she heard something strange in the house. Looking back on that promise now, she knew she would be unable to fulfill it. Promise or no promise, if there was a way to kill the demon, she would kill it when it came calling or die trying. No way in Hell was she going to let John get caught in the middle again; she had already lost him once and she'd be damned if she lost him a second time._

April 31st, 1978; Topeka, Kansas

"Why do you need the photograph?" John held onto the picture, for some reason he was apprehensive about handing it over to the doctor. _Something about the man just didn't sit right with him. The procedure had gone smoothly and Mary was pregnant with their child, but something felt off to John. He wasn't sure Dr. Benson could be trusted, yet Mary had agreed to have some of her fertilized eggs stored at the fertility clinic. They would be frozen, and if, in the future, they wanted to have another child, she would go through the procedure once more. It was simple. Or so Dr. Benson had assured them. John would wait to see how this pregnancy turned out first as he still remained skeptically hopeful whereas Mary trusted, a little too much for his comfort, that it would work._

"This is groundbreaking territory Mr. Winchester. I just want to have a picture of the first couple to use the in vitro process in the United States, for my own personal notations and records, and of course the occasional medical lecture or two," Dr. Benson smiled warmly, and in spite of his misgivings, John handed the picture over to the doctor at Mary's nod and they both signed release forms allowing the doctor to share their case with other medical professionals. They had been assured that their names would not be mentioned, but still, John didn't trust him.

_He refused to have his wife and their unborn child become household names and had been assured by the doctor that their anonymity would be strictly maintained. No one, the doctor had promised, though the procedure was groundbreaking, would be hounding any of the Winchesters about it. It was clear to John that Dr. Benson was looking for acclaim for what he had done, and a way to boost his career. John's unwillingness to cooperate toward that end had irked the doctor and he worried what the doctor might do in retaliation though he assured himself that the man was bound to be held in check by certain legalities and was governed by an ethical code._

Happy to finally be out of there, John pulled his wife's hand into his lap and fingered the diamond ring on her hand. This had been their tenth visit to the clinic in the past month and there would be further check-ups throughout the pregnancy to make sure that there were no complications. John did not relish having to go back to that place, but one look at the radiant smile which graced the face of his beautiful bride stole his breath away and, ignoring her half-hearted warning to watch the road, he drew her close for a kiss.


	3. Inception Part II: The Potters

**Disclaimer: **See prologue

**A/N**: Though surrogacy did not become common practice until the 1980's, the concept has been around for centuries, having been mentioned in the book of Genesis when Sarai asked Hagar to bear a child for her and Abram when it appeared that she was unable to conceive a child. Additionally, gestational surrogacy (which is the process by which Lily becomes pregnant with Harry in this story) is illegal in some places. Gestational surrogacy involves implanting the embryo from another woman into a host woman's uterus. In a surrogacy (whether gestational or otherwise), the child is then generally given to the biological parents or the parents who contracted for a surrogate to carry a child for them.

This story is AU.

* * *

Inception Part II: The Potters

December, 1979

Lily and James Potter had only turned to the idea of going to a muggle clinic for in vitro fertilization when St. Mungo's refused to attempt the _dubious_ procedure. After discovering that she was unable to conceive, Lily had done some research, trying to find possible ways that she and James would be able to have children outside of adoption. She discovered a process known as in vitro fertilization. The first child to be born using that method was now a healthy toddler.

When the Healers were unable to heal her magically, she had suggested this method, showing them an article in a medical journal she had gotten from a muggle library. She was reprimanded severely for even contemplating the barbarous muggle method. Even certain factions of muggles were in an uproar about the process. The Healers had been shocked at the mere suggestion that they attempt to fertilize an ovum outside of the body, calling it immoral and unnatural. They weren't gods after all. They had even gone so far as to suggest that Lily needed to spend some time working with their mind and psyche Healers in their 'long term care ward'.

It was in that same medical journal that Lily found an article about a small fertility clinic in the United States whose doctor was not only willing to perform the controversial procedure, but had also met with success on a number of occasions. Though there were fertility clinics much closer to home, she and James were both reluctant to attempt the procedure in London for fear that they would be discovered and summarily stopped. They had not told any members of the Order of the Phoenix or their friends what they were planning to do. They hadn't even mentioned that they were unable to have children on their own. If everything worked out as it should, no one would even know that she had undergone an experimental medical procedure to become pregnant.

"Lily," James held her hand as the plane took off from London, "are you sure that you want to go through with this?"

Squeezing his hand in a gesture which was meant to reassure them both, she turned to smile up at him, "Yes, James Potter, I am."

"We could wait, you know," James looked down at the beautiful woman sitting next to him, wondering what he had done in his life to deserve the love of such an amazing woman, "we don't need to have a child right now." He knew that trying to talk her out of it would be a long shot, his wife had an infamous stubborn streak, and when she had made up her mind about something, she did not turn back from it. It was one of the things he loved most about her. That, and her amazing capacity to love unconditionally, even those who, in his eyes, were undeserving of that love. He wanted her to know that there was no pressure for her to have a child to _carry on the Potter name._ It would be fine with him, though he did feel a pang of remorse at the thought of it, if they never had a child. If it was just him and Lily for the remainder of their lives, he would be more than content.

"I know," she looked down at their intertwined hands, marveling at how her own hand seemed a perfect fit for his, "it's just…" she trailed off, unable to explain the sense of urgency she had. The sense that if they didn't jump at the chance to have a child now, they may never have the opportunity to do so. Maybe this sense of urgency was merely a byproduct of the wizarding world sitting on the brink of war. Maybe it was pure, utter selfishness which spurred her on; the knowledge that James, the man she had grown to love over the years, could be killed and abruptly torn from her life was certainly motivation enough for her to want to build something beyond just themselves with him. To build something, a life, which would carry on, not only James' family name, but the legacy of their love for each other.

October, 1979, Topeka, Kansas

"Lily," James entered the gate at the airport terminal, "come with me."

The headstrong woman narrowed her green eyes which flashed with a fierce determination passersby mistook for anger. Ignoring her husband's request and the odd looks they were getting from curious onlookers, she grasped her husband's face in gentle hands which belied the look she was giving him. She pulled his head down to meet her own and planted her full red lips on his, taking his thoughts, as well as his very breath away. His lips were on fire; Lily was devouring them with an intense passion unlike anything he had experienced to date in their relationship.

"James, we already discussed this," she pulled back from the kiss, still holding his face in her soothing hands, "the Order, Dumbledore, Padfoot, Moony, and Wormtail need you now. I will come as soon as I am able."

"I will find someone to get the nursery ready and to help us, maybe even my old nursemaid, Bathsida," he promised as he brushed his lips against hers once more, breathing in the delicate lilac, vanilla scent of her as though imprinting it upon his mind before pulling back. Her cheeks dimpled as she forced a smile that warred with the heartache she felt. Waving cheerfully as he headed toward the plane, she bit back the tears that threatened to fall. _James would be better off not knowing the truth_, she reasoned as she watched him leave.

Dr. Benson's Fertility Clinic

_True, he hadn't exactly been honest with the Winchesters, or the other three couples he had helped to conceive children, about the 'release' form they had signed in April of 1978, but he had their signature on it nonetheless, and that meant he had every legal right to offer one of their embryos to the woman who sat across from him with a determined gleam in her eyes._

"I see that you have chosen the Winchesters," Dr. Benson nodded at the picture the red-haired woman held in her hand, "they are a lovely couple. He works as a mechanic," he didn't know why he felt compelled to tell her more. _She had been given files on all four couples with all the pertinent information that she would need to know about each. Perhaps he did have a guilty conscience after all._ _She and her husband had come to the clinic a month prior and not one of the attempts to fertilize her eggs had worked. He couldn't understand why that was when it had worked with all of the others who had visited his clinic over the past six months. It puzzled him immensely._

"And the woman," green eyes bore into his own blinking grey orbs, "what is she like?" Her voice was wistful, yet it did not hide the tremulous note that it had held for the past few days. _She had been devastated when Dr. Benson told her that the fertilization process was not working_. _She had kept the information from James, assuring him that, yes, he could return to England without her as he was needed by the Order. She would follow shortly, happily pregnant with their child. She just couldn't bear to tell James that they would be unable to have children; especially after they had made such an effort to do so. Could it be that because she and James were not muggles that the process would not work in the muggle way? _

"Mary?" Dr. Benson frowned, thinking, "She is a beautiful woman, full of life and determination," pausing as if debating about whether or not to add something, he smiled crookedly, "as a matter of fact, you remind me of her in a way." He leaned back in his chair, regarding the woman who sat before him. She had a slight build, her red locks flowed about her oval-shaped face, framing it magnificently and her eyes were deep pools of green. In spite of the striking similarity those eyes held to Mary Winchester's they weren't what reminded him of Mary.

"Really?" The eagerness in the slight woman's posture was tangible as she sat forward in the wooden chair, looking at the photo she held in her hand. Biting her bottom lip, she raised searching eyes to his.

"Yee..es," he drew the word out slowly, surprised by his hesitancy to share his observations. _He was not a sentimental man by any stretch of the word. No, he was a bottom-line kind of guy, which is why he had agreed to helping the Potters in the first place. They had an ample amount of money at their disposal and were willing to part with quite a large portion of it. No, he was not a sentimental man, nor was he one to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about his clients. It had always been this way for him. At the clinics where he had performed experimental procedures on men, women and children in Grand Marais, Saskatchewan, North Dakota, and Utah, he hadn't given a second thought about what he was doing or how it would affect the future lives of those who came to him. It was all about the money and, of course, the science. He had put up a great front of caring and even appeared to be compassionate on occasion, but not once did he think about those he had 'helped' once they had left. The woman who sat before him and Mary Winchester were exceptions for his logically-bound mind and he couldn't for the life of him understand why._

"How?" The ivory-skinned beauty before him traced the smiling face of the blonde-haired woman in the photo, "How are we alike?" _Perhaps the child she bore would carry some of those personality traits. It would be almost as though he or she were truly her own child. She could see the physical similarities between James and John. Both men had dark hair which appeared just slightly untidy and both were well-built, though not overly muscled. But, the only physical similarities she shared with Mary were green eyes and the ivory tone of skin. _

Peering closer at the picture she hadn't let out of her grasp since she had come across the folder, she noted that Mary's chin was slightly less rounded than her own. She found it to be much shapelier. _Hopefully the child she carried would have John's dark hair, sturdy build and Mary's eyes and chin. Then the child would look as though he or she took after the Potter's side of the family and had received Lily's eyes, perhaps she could even use a few charms to help ensure that the child looked like James. This __**would**__ work. She could feel it in her bones. And for the first time in a long time, she had hope._

"Well," he began again, determined to gather his rambling thoughts into one coherent statement, "Mary, as are you, was very single-minded in her resolve to have a child by any means necessary," he hesitated, trying to find the right words, before going on, "based on my observations of her, I found her to be a bright, strong, independent, stubborn," he chuckled, "young woman. Much as you are. As a matter of fact, I believe you two would become good friends were you to meet." _He really shouldn't have said that last part. He was laying it on a bit too thick, especially seeing as how she had already made up her mind to go through with his proposal that she carry one of the 'donated' embryos from the four couples who had met with success. _

_True, he didn't even know if it would work, but had hypothesized that, as there was no major damage to her womb, the surrogate embryo should be able to implant in the lining of the womb and should result in a healthy pregnancy. This was an unprecedented procedure and would lead to acclaim within scientific circles and, much more importantly, more money for him. The way he saw it, it was a win-win situation. The only people who might possibly be affected negatively by this were the Winchesters and there was no way they would find out about it. Even if they did come back in a couple of years to have another child, the missing embryo (provided they even remembered how many had been stored) could be explained away. He would simply have to tell them that it was discarded as it was no longer viable while expressing just the right amount of remorse. It was the perfect plan. He couldn't have asked for more favorable conditions._

Still, he couldn't have the young woman in front of him attempting to contact the Winchesters, "But as we discussed earlier," his voice became serious, tinged with just the right amount of regret, "the donating couples do not wish to be contacted by the recipient, a matter of principle, you understand."

She nodded slowly in understanding, her copper locks concealing her face. She had already broken her promise to the doctor. Yesterday, she had made a visit to Lawrence, Kansas. Her questions were merely to hide the fact that she had made some observations of the Winchester family on her own.

She had to see what Mary and John were like for herself before committing to carrying what amounted to, for all intents and purposes, their child. True, she and James would raise the child as their own, but the Winchesters would be the biological parents. She had to know what they were like, what a child coming from their genetic makeup could possibly grow up to be.

The previous day

When the taxi pulled up in front of the house, she suddenly lost the nerve and, spotting a park nearby, decided to sit there for a bit to gather her wits. When she had finally gotten up the nerve to walk to the house on the pretext of moving into the area and getting to know the neighbors, she looked up from the swing she was sitting on and recognized the couple from the photograph which was contained in her pocket. They had come to the park with their little boy.

Watching the trio surreptitiously through the fringe of her hair, she smiled at the picture-perfect family they seemed to embody. It was chilly, so their little boy was bundled up from top to bottom and, much to her surprise, the infant, young as he was, not even a year old yet, was already walking. He had a big, broad smile on his face as he toddled along in between his attentive father and mother. He stumbled and fell on his butt, but batted away his father's helping hand and, with a determined look on his face, managed to return, albeit a bit unsteadily, to his feet. Both parents shared a coveted look of amusement over the boy's head as he took a few precarious steps forward. Clearly the boy had inherited stubborn independence from either his father or mother. That would be a very welcome trait as she had a stubborn streak of her own.

She watched their interaction with each other and was delighted to see how John could barely keep his hands off his wife and how she doted on his attention. She witnessed firsthand what a loving mother Mary was to her son as she played with her little boy and how preoccupied John was with ensuring the safety and welfare of this family. It caused Lily's heart to ache in longing. She too wanted a child to love and spoil. A little boy she could call her own. A little boy she could sing to and who would make his father proud one day. To see James' face to light up the way John Winchester's face lit up as he watched his son play in the sand.

Having made her up her mind that this was the couple whose child she wanted to carry and call her own, she shifted in her seat on the swing and smiled at the couple and their son. It was now or never. Sighing, Lily got out of the swing and approached the trio. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

"Excuse me," she smiled warmly, "may I?" She gestured toward the little boy sitting next to his father in the sand. John's immediate stiffening wasn't lost on her, but she ploughed onward, eyes fixed on Mary's.

"My husband and I have been trying for a child, but we haven't," she choked on the words, unable to say them and looked away. Before she knew what was happening, she felt strong arms around her, the scent of lavender wafted up from golden-hair and she felt tears coursing down her cheeks. It had been foolish and foolhardy of her to come here and intrude upon this blissful family moment. She felt like an imposter, but clung to the comfort being offered her.

"John," Mary released her hold on Lily and gave her husband a meaningful look. Looking from one woman to the other, he hesitated briefly before hoisting his son up and handing him over to his wife. He squirmed a bit in Mary's arms, wanting to get down and resume playing in the sand. With a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek she handed her son over, knowing instinctively that the woman who had covertly watched them from the swings was not a threat to her little boy.

"What's his name?" Lily whispered as she held the little boy. His cheeks were flushed from play and were creased with the cutest dimples. She hugged him close and closed her eyes, breathing in the ambrosial fragrance which emanated from him. His scent was a curious mixture of baby powder, lavender and _motor oil?_ She found it as delightful as it was intriguing and wondered what her own child would smell like. _What scents would he carry from her and from James?_

"Dean," Mary's hand rested on her son's back as she watched the woman holding her son. The dismal smile on her face tore at Mary's heart.

"Dean," Lily murmured, "such a dear, sweet little boy," closing her eyes, she imagined him as her and James' own. Incanting a silent spell of protection over the child, she handed him back to his mother, "Thank you."

Mary and John invited her to their home and had shared with her how Dr. Benson had helped them have Dean. After a simple dinner, John insisted upon driving her back to Topeka when she asked to call for a cab. It was a pleasant ride filled with laughter as Mary shared stories of Dean's first faltering steps, his first word, which was, "Dada" and how he liked to toddle around after his father, playing with the tools as his Dad worked on the Impala. It was with much reluctance that Lily said goodbye to the Winchesters when they reached her hotel.

"Thank you both for everything," she hugged Mary tightly and waved to John.

"Don't forget the future play date," Mary reminded her before settling back into the car next to her son, "Dean and I will be expecting you and your little one in a year."

Lily was surprised when John walked around the car and wrapped her in a warm embrace as well. "Don't worry," he assured her, "everything will work out."

"Thank you John," she returned his embrace before pulling away.

"Lily," John turned to face her when he reached the driver's side, "you'll be a wonderful mother someday."

_Yes, she and Mary would have become good, close friends had circumstances been different._

Dr. Benson cleared his throat; he didn't know what had gotten into him, "If you are ready for the procedure, we can start after you sign these medical release forms." He pushed the papers across the desk and handed Lily a pen. Biting her lower lip, she vacillated over signing them.

_Lily was uncertain about deceiving James, but she wanted to raise a child with him and this appeared to be the only way that would happen. She traced the figures in the muggle picture she held with a trembling finger, knowing that it was a big risk she was taking and that if James ever found out, he might never forgive her. Oh, she knew that he loved her and had loved her since the moment he had first laid eyes on her as she waited for the train to Hogwarts on Platform 9 ¾ . She hadn't even been aware of him at the time, but he had told her shortly after they married and she treasured the memory._

_She wanted to make him happy and she knew, in spite of what he said that he wanted nothing more than to have a child with her, a son to carry on the Potter name. In spite of the dark happenings all around them, he wanted to bring a child into the world and, she couldn't help herself, she wanted to bring a child into the world too. No matter that the man who had proclaimed himself to be Lord Voldemort was gaining more and more followers each day, including some of her classmates, most noteworthy, her childhood friend, Severus Snape. _

_If only Severus hadn't become a Death Eater, they could have remained friends. She would have worked it out so that James and his friends would no longer tease the young man as she valued his friendship and unique insight. But he had been the one to break off their friendship. He had been the one to utter those hurtful words, mudblood, and the one to put his trust in Lord Voldemort, turning away from her forever._

_Absentmindedly thumbing the forgotten picture, she wondered what her childhood friend was up to at that moment. Was he, at this very moment, bowing to his 'dark lord'? Or was he involved in one of their horrid raids on those suspected of being involved with or sympathetic to the Order of the Phoenix? Bitter remorse, like acid, burned in the pit of her stomach as she thought of those who had been tortured and killed by the self-emulated 'dark lord' and his followers. Had Severus participated in those activities? The boy she had grown up with and loved fiercely as a kindred friend would never have submitted himself so crassly. Would never have tortured and killed others in service to someone who didn't care a whit about him. Did he even know what he had missed out on when he turned to a life of darkness and loyalty to that sycophant?_

_Should she and James really bring a child into such a cruel world? Did she have a right to bring a child of Mary and John Winchester's into her world? Maybe the fact that she hadn't been able to conceive had been a sign. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Both she and James were active members of the Order of the Phoenix; would it be fair to bring up a child in such precarious circumstances? Would it be fair to attempt to raise a child when she knew that either her or James' lives might be forfeit in the war? She knew that Sirius, Remus, and Peter would all give their lives in protection of any child that she and James would have, but would it really be fair to raise a child in wartimes? Would it be fair to ask them to risk their lives for a child that would never have been born had dire scientific measures not been taken? She had a clear choice to make. All she had to do was let go of the pen, let it drop to the desk and walk out of the clinic. Maybe if they had an ordinary, non-magical child his or her life would be untouched…_

Grasping the pen firmly, Lily hoped that James would never find out what she had done. That he would love the child she carried, believing him or her to be his own, regardless of whether the child was magical or not. Remembering the adorable dimples, the amalgam of scents and the bright green eyes of the child she held the day before, she signed the papers that would enable her to be implanted with Mary and John Winchester's donated embryo. There was no going back now.


	4. Yarns Unraveled

**Disclaimer: **See prologue

Yarns Unraveled

_Sirius had been surprised when Albus initiated a private meeting for himself and Remus at the Order Headquarters. He was grateful for the opportunity to have some company other than that of his mother's ghastly portrait and the loathsome presence of the house elf, Kreacher. The close confines of the home he had wholeheartedly despised as a child and had become unhappily interred in as an adult seemed to grow smaller each day of his enforced incarceration. _

_Until the Order members began to use Grimmauld Place as their headquarters in earnest, he knew that he would continue to feel as though he were slowly being suffocated to death. Until Harry Potter, his rightful godson, and indisputable son of James and Lily Potter, came to live with him; the walls would continue to close in on him, squeezing out his very life._

_After a brief lunch with Albus and Remus, Albus had cleared the table and proceeded to tell them that Lily and James were not Harry's biological parents. They had gone to some fertility clinic in the States where it was discovered that James' sperm was incapable of fertilization, whatever the hell that meant. _

_Lily, desperate to keep it a secret from James, had sought alternatives on her own and agreed to participate in some sort of experimental procedure in which she carried the child of another couple as her own. She had apparently chosen the couple from a picture of all things. Sirius could care less about a lesson in biology or the fairy tale Albus was telling them regarding his godson. What he wanted was Harry removed from the Dursley home and brought to live at Grimmauld Place with him where he could ensure that Harry was safe and being cared for properly._

"I don't believe it," Sirius grasped the back of the chair he had just vacated. His white knuckles were a direct contrast to the red flush of his face, "Harry is the son of James and Lily Potter. Really Albus, you should know better than to trust the word of old, washed out hags!" He looked toward Remus who had paled considerably at Albus' declaration, but he did not raise his eyes to meet those of his livid friend.

He stood facing one of the most powerful wizards who had ever walked the planet and suddenly felt at a loss for words. _One of the most highly regarded wizards of all time had gone off the deep end. Albus Dumbledore was completely addled. He had to be in order to buy that old hag's story. _

_Bathsida had spun him a fanciful yarn and he had bought it hook, line and sinker. He was now peddling the story as fact to others, trying to get them to believe the ridiculous tale that Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was not a Potter after all. Turns out that Voldemort had chosen the wrong child to attempt to murder. Wouldn't he be shocked? The whole wizarding world would be rocked to its core should this news be leaked._

Sirius eyed the man he had revered for most of his life with a sense of rapidly diminishing esteem. To think that Albus actually believed this outlandish fabrication somehow cheapened his view of the formidable wizard.

"Sirius," Albus held up a placating hand and waited for the irate man to resume his seat, "I know this is quite a shock for you and I am sorry that this is the manner in which you had to find out about your godson's true parentage."

"I can't believe that you are taking the old hag at her word," Sirius leaned forward in his seat as though pleading with the elderly wizard to see reason. _Bathsida had all but been tossed out of the Potter home when Harry was little over a year old. _

"Remus," Sirius' pleading tone caused the haggard-looking man to move his gaze from his hands which rested on the tabletop to his friend's imploring eyes, "you don't believe these lies do you?"

Remus didn't answer right away, taking a moment to sip his all but abandoned tea, "I need more proof than the word of an elderly witch who claimed to have been privy to Lily's secret," Remus cast an apologetic look in Albus' direction.

"I assure you Sirius and Remus that I am not revealing any of this to you lightly. I have spent the past year researching Bathsida's claims and I assure you that they have been verified," Albus looked over the rim of his spectacles into Sirius' eyes, his blue eyes piercing the dark ones of the younger man before turning to Remus.

"It," Sirius leaned back in his chair wracking his mind for the right words, "it's simply preposterous. I was there when Harry was born. Remus was there. He is the spitting image of James and his eyes; surely you've noticed that they're nearly perfect reincarnations of Lily's own."

"You both, more than anyone else outside of perhaps one or two others, know how adept Lily was at both Charms and Potions," Albus reminded the men who sat with him at Sirius' scarred kitchen table.

"So you're saying that Lily somehow altered the boy's looks?" Sirius asked incredulously, "And what of Harry's magical abilities. How did he come by them if his biological parents are both Muggles?" He gestured at the picture which rested near Albus' elbow on the table between them. Remus absentmindedly stole a glance at the photo.

"Many of the students who attend Hogwarts are born of Muggle parentage as you well know," Albus speared Sirius with a reproachful look before pulling out a small, tattered square of a book. He turned it over in his hands and muttered a quiet spell which Sirius could not make out.

"However, in Harry's case, I believe that there may be another explanation. At least Lily had a theory or two in regard to whether or not the young boy we have come to know and love as Harry James Potter would be born a wizard or not. But before we get to that," Albus placed the threadbare leather journal next to the worn photograph and popped a lemon drop in his mouth, offering one to Sirius who refused the sour candy. Remus smiled wanly before accepting the tart treat from Albus.

Without preamble, Albus walked over to the fireplace, threw some Floo powder in and called for Severus who promptly entered the Black's kitchen via the fireplace.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Sirius stubbornly stood, glaring at the Potions Professor.

"Sirius, please return to your seat," Albus' voice was stern and Sirius found himself obeying, "welcome Severus. I trust that you brought what I asked of you?"

Severus tossed a sneer in Sirius' direction before nodding to the headmaster and taking a seat which was unfortunately next to Sirius'. Given the choice between sitting next to Black or Lupin, he would take his chances with Black. The man may have been full of himself and insufferably arrogant, but at least he was not a werewolf.

He handed the _evidence_ to Albus, a vial filled with inky black liquid and another filled with a milky white substance, before settling back with a smug look on his face. He was eager to watch his childhood foe's world shatter. He declined Albus' proffered lemon drop, _Who needed a lemon drop when life was offering him something far more substantial in compensation for the years he had to endure hardship at the callous hands of his enemies?_

"Severus is here at my discretion and my invitation," Albus turned back to Sirius, "as you know he is highly adept at working with potions," Severus barely managed to contain a derisive snort and reined in some of his eager anticipation at seeing one of his most fervent opponents crushed.

"As I was saying, I called Severus here as a witness to the truth of Harry Potter's parentage, or at the very least to bring to light the verity of Bathsida's claims that Harry is not the biological son of James and Lily Potter," Albus continued his train of thought.

"A witness?" Sirius once again arose from his chair, wildly gesturing in Severus' direction, a look of derision on his face, "You expect us to believe the word of a known Death Eater?"

"Sit down!" Albus commanded. Severus grinned jovially from his seated position as he watched the fuming wizard gnash his teeth before once again taking his seat, hanging his head like a scolded child. Remus remained seated and oddly quiet.

"The proof is in this potion," Albus motioned toward the vial with the inky back liquid.

"This proves nothing," Sirius scoffed derisively as he grasped the vial deftly in his fingers, "what is this anyway?" It didn't resemble any potion he had brewed as a student at Hogwarts.

"Albus, you can't expect the likes of Black to recognize a complicated potion such as this one. After all," Severus shot Sirius a mock grin, "he was an abominable potions student at best, not to mention that he probably invested no time outside of Hogwarts studying any potions journals given that he spent over the past decade wasting away in Azkaban."

"That's quite enough Severus," Albus remonstrated as both Sirius and Severus stood facing each other, wands drawn.

"Sirius," Remus had risen to his feet, but had not drawn his wand, "let's hear what Severus has to say."

"You can't tell me that you believe any of this dubious nonsense," Sirius looked at his friend with disbelief.

"I remember seeing that photograph," he pointed to the photo near Albus' elbow, "sitting on a table in Harry's nursery one morning just before he was born," he answered barely above a whisper.

"When I asked Lily about the couple in the photograph, she hastily put it away and told me that they were distant cousins on her father's side of the family. At the time, I believed her. Though I wondered why she had seemed so nervous, I simply chalked it up to the paranoia of the times, but now," Remus sat down heavily, "now, her tense reaction to such a simple question casts all of this in a different light for me."

Opting to remain standing, Sirius grasped the back of his chair and locked eyes with his friend before putting his wand away. Severus resumed his seat and pointed at the nearly forgotten vial which was resting precariously on the edge of the table.

"That is a progenitor potion used to determine paternal and maternal claims over a child whose birthright is questioned by either one or both alleged parents, though admittedly so," he grinned without humor, "maternal claims are by and large not contended."

"So, what you're saying Severus," Remus met the steady glare of his former classmate with an open look of curiosity, "is that you brewed this potion at Albus' behest to determine whether or not Bathsida's claim was true."

"In short, yes," Severus hissed.

"And what did you find?" Remus prompted, knowing that he would no doubt get a less than amiable response in return.

"I_ found_ as you so eloquently put it," Severus' biting tone did not disappoint Remus' expectations, "that Harry is indeed _not _a Potter. Whether he is the son of the couple pictured in this Muggle photograph remains, however, yet to be determined, though surely even you should be able to see beyond your hero worship of James that the boy bears a striking resemblance to the man in the photo."

"You messed with the potion," Sirius reeled on his adversary, looking to Remus for support, "just to…"

"Just to what?" Severus rounded on his opponent, "I no more believed this outlandish allegation any more than you until I had the proof of it and, as Albus so poetically put it, the proof is in the potion. The potion was brewed expertly, if you don't believe me – ask Albus, he was present. Or better yet, Black, question me under veritaserum if that would help to ease your feeble mind."

"Gentlemen!" Albus had risen to his full height which was considerable in the cramped space of the Black kitchen and both men backed away from each other, though neither lost the look of pure contempt each held in reserve for the other.

"This back-and-forth arguing is accomplishing nothing. Kindly resume your seats and let me finish where Severus left off. If either of you interrupts, I will place a silencing charm on the both of you and," Albus turned icy eyes on the default owner of Grimmauld Place, "if you rise from your seat once more, Sirius Black, I will put you in a body bind. Is that understood?" Both men nodded mutely, furtively shooting each other one last dirty look before turning toward their mutual mentor. Sirius was reminded of just how formidable a wizard Albus Dumbledore truly was.

"If you don't mind my asking," Remus winced, not sure whether Albus' admonishment included him as well. When Albus merely nodded for him to continue speaking, Remus sighed in relief and continued, "Why are we only hearing of this now? You indicated earlier that Bathsida confided in you nearly a year ago."

"That, my friend, is a very fair question," Albus rested his elbows on the table, "I wanted to check the veracity of what Bathsida told me before I notified anyone else about what she had confided in me. I too thought it all an elaborate tale, but wondered what she could possibly gain from it and so I did some research of my own and learned that the clinic and Dr. Benson were in fact real. I also learned that the couple in the photograph had used the services of the same clinic some months before Lily and James."

"But it makes no sense," Sirius interrupted only to have the promised silencing spell placed on both him and a livid Severus, who glared daggers at the other man.

"Yes, I agree that it puzzled me as to how Bathsida came upon this information and so I questioned her thoroughly about her assertion that Lily had confided all of this information to her shortly after Harry was born," Albus cleared his throat before continuing, "I believe Severus that you are missing a vial of veritaserum from your stocks."

Severus' eyes narrowed considerably as he gave a quick nod in affirmation. He thought that Potter or one of his fawning fans had stolen it as it had gone missing about the same time as the Gillyweed the boy had used during the fateful tournament had disappeared from his private stores.

"But why did Lily confide in Bathsida in the first place?" Remus pondered aloud.

"Bathsida found Lily rocking Harry while he was an infant, tears were streaming down her face and, according to Bathsida's account, Lily told her everything and begged her not to tell James or you or Sirius. Lily believed that the little boy she had lovingly crooned to throughout the nine months she carried him, the same child each of you in turn had blessed while he resided in her womb, would be rejected should the truth be made known. She loved him and wanted him to be loved by each of you." Albus' eyes bore into Sirius'.

"As a matter-of-fact," Albus' face brightened as he picked up the heretofore overlooked journal and flipped open to a page filled with intricate ebony handwriting, "this leads to one of Lily's theories about whether or not Harry would be born a wizard." Remus, Sirius, and Severus stared at the headmaster impatiently.

"She hypothesized that an embryo from a Muggle couple carried by a witch would result in a child with magical abilities at least fifty percent of the time. Of course this has not been substantiated yet as she is the only witch I know of to date, to have carried the embryo of a Muggle couple to term, though in all honesty, I do not know of any other witch who has undergone such a procedure either." His eyes twinkled in excitement at what Lily had done.

"What were her other theories?" Remus, currently being the only other wizard allowed to speak, enquired.

"Her other theory was that because of the attention given to Harry while he was in the womb by James, you, Sirius, and even Peter as well as other acquaintances, his genetic makeup was magically altered." Albus paused; a look of enthusiasm adorning his face.

"Harry was, in essence, knit together while he grew in Lily's womb. Magic was woven into the structure of his DNA as a result of, not only her being a witch, but also because of all of the magic, in the form of touch and murmured blessings, that surrounded the both of them while she was pregnant." Albus popped another lemon drop in his mouth, a huge grin on his face as he looked from one skeptical face to the next.

"What about the fact that Harry looks so much like James and has Lily's remarkable eyes?" Remus asked the question that Sirius was dying to ask, but was currently unable to voice.

"Again, Lily, as we all know," Albus' quick glance in Severus' direction had gone unnoticed by Remus and Sirius, "was gifted in both charms and potions, but it was neither of these things which appear to have aided in Harry's obtaining both James' and her own features." He chuckled at the stunned looks his revelation had received.

"She chose the couple whose child she would bear wisely. If you look closely at the photograph, you will note that Harry resembles the man in it more prominently than the woman. And that the eyes which you claim echo Lily's own in their color and depth, also bear a salient semblance to those of the woman in the photograph."

"Let me make sure that I understand this correctly," Remus rested his chin in his hand, "Lily chose a couple who had similar features to her own and James' and then trusted that it would work out without the aid of potions or charms?"

"And she surmised that while the child was," Albus flipped a couple of pages, "being, _for lack of a better word, shaped inside_ of her that it was _conforming, again due to the magic inherent_ in her, _to the image which resided _in her _own mind._ She writes that she felt _a sort of psychic connection with the unborn child as he was being formed_ in her womb. The picture she held in her mind of the child she would bear seemed almost _tangible and became clearer over time_."

Though the words, _Psychic mumbo jumbo,_ remained unheard, the dark scowl on Sirius' face rang out loud and clear. He still didn't buy a word of what was being said, in spite of all of the mounting evidence. Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned back in his chair, casting a defiant look in Albus' direction.

"What does all of this mean for Harry?" Remus' voice held a note of impatience in it.

_He didn't fully understand what Lily's theories meant. Nor did he really need to. Remus had gotten to know Harry and had grown to love him. It didn't matter to him who Harry's rightful parents were; he didn't give a damn whether or not Harry was the son of Lily and James Potter, he loved the boy in his own right. He loved him as an uncle would love a favored nephew. _

_What Remus cared about was how all of this would affect Harry, especially given the circumstances surrounding the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Voldemort's return and the death of a classmate had taken a heavy toll on the young Gryffindor. Discovering that he was not the son of Lily and James Potter would be another blow to his battered emotional state. Remus was not sure that Harry would be able to stand up under it._

Sirius' jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked like it was locked into place. Severus' face held a rare look of awe on it which he quickly replaced with a dour frown when he became aware of Albus' attention on him.

"Why bring all of this up right now?" The werewolf pressed.

"As you, and the vast majority of the wizarding world knows, Harry was placed with his last known blood relative connected with his mother's side of the family. Lily's self-sacrifice secured for him a little known protective charm through her bloodline." Each wizard nodded in turn.

"Up until recent events, it appeared to be a strong, unbreakable protective ward. Harry seemed to be perfectly safe in the care of Lily's sister, Petunia. However, with Voldemort's recent return to power," Albus pointedly ignored Remus' involuntary intake of breath at the mention of the name of the second most powerful wizard currently known to wizard kind, "I fear that the wards will soon be breached. They seem to be weakening, which gives more credibility to Bathsida's claims."

"What do you plan to do?" Remus raked a shaky hand through his disheveled hair.

"I had a reliable wizard locate Harry Potter's alleged biological family," Albus held up a silencing hand as Remus opened his mouth to ask another question, "and believe that, with proper precautions put in place, it would be safest for Harry to be placed with them should they be amenable to the arrangement and should the progenitor potion prove that this is indeed Harry's true biological family."

Severus pulled a tiny cauldron from his robes and poured the milky white substance into it. Albus handed the potions expert two envelopes, each filled with loose hairs. Severus set about silently adding the loose hairs from the first and then the second envelope, stirring them into the progenitor potion. His eyes widened as the potion turned from milky white to crimson, indicating a genetic connection.

"Even if Harry has a connection with these Muggles, it was Lily's sacrifice which protected Harry from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. What protection could his biological family possibly provide for him that would be equal to or surpass that?" Remus wondered aloud, his thoughts mirroring those of both Sirius and Severus.

"Harry's biological family also offers an ancient blood protection for him and, as it turns out, his biological mother also performed an act of sacrifice for another child within the family, his younger brother, Sam. As such, Harry should be protected under that same umbrella which his cousin Dudley has been protected all of these years, though without the possibility of the wards weakening from a lack of true family blood connection."

"But Albus, how can this be, given that Harry's biological family are Muggles?" Remus once again voiced what Sirius and Severus could not.

"Blood protection has little to do with magic," Albus paused, "wizards know how to reinforce and strengthen a blood tie or bond with magic, but it is not wholly necessary for magic to be involved." He paused taking in the doubtful looks on the faces surrounding him.

"In Harry's biological mother's case, she died trying to protect her youngest son from a being even darker than Voldemort himself, if you can imagine. Unbeknownst to her family, the blood she spilled while attempting to protect her son has been protecting them. Harry, as her son, will fall under this same protection from supernatural beings."

"Voldemort being one of those 'supernatural' beings of which you speak so casually, and which Harry himself is by the same token Albus," Remus reminded the elder wizard.

"Yes, but, Harry will be protected even so," Albus acknowledged and with a wave of his wand, he lifted the silencing spell from Sirius and Severus who were momentarily stunned into silence."

"What is it that you are not telling us?" Sirius leaned across the table, looking Albus square in the eye.

"There is an additional protection which this family offers Harry," Albus cleared his throat, "you see; they are hunters of the supernatural." He lowered his eyes to examine the grooves in the wood of the kitchen table, waiting for the impending outburst to come.

"They're what?!" Sirius felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He clenched a fist at his side and sent Albus' bowed head a murderous look.

"Surely you are not thinking of placing Harry with hunters, Albus," Remus looked at the most powerful wizard of his time and shook his head in disbelief.

_The hunters he had heard of sought and eliminated any and every thing which had a connection to the supernatural world, no questions asked. Peeves, the Bloody Baron, Nearly Headless Nick, Moaning Myrtle, Hagrid's beloved pets… would all be considered nothing more than monsters to be exterminated with extreme prejudice. Even Harry himself, given the strict guidelines many hunters followed, could be considered a foe to be destroyed. Remus knew that, without a doubt, he and his kind would be executed summarily upon discovery by a hunter. _

"Albus, the hunters that I have heard of despise everything supernatural. They actually hunt and kill many of the creatures that can be found in Hogwart's Forbidden Forest. There is no way that this family will wittingly take a wizard in, family or not," Remus gestured vehemently as he spoke, his voice gaining volume.

"The solution for that is simple, we won't tell them that Harry is a wizard," Albus' voice held a grim note of determination as he once again waved off Remus' impending questions, "He will only be with them for a portion of the summer and then will be brought to Grimmauld Place. There is no need for his family to know that he is a wizard. In fact, it is imperative that they not learn of his ties to the 'supernatural' world as you aptly pointed out."

"Albus," Remus began before the headmaster could wave him off, "Harry's supernatural abilities may not be so easily hidden. What if he has an accidental burst of magic in a stressful situation? What happens when his 'family' finds out that he is in fact a wizard, that he is, according to what I know of hunters, a supernatural being which must be destroyed?"

"I do not believe that it will come to that Remus," Albus spoke with authority, "Harry's status as a wizard will be carefully hidden from his family."

"How?" Remus, Sirius, and Severus asked in unison, causing the latter two to grimace in disgust.

"Leave that up to me gentlemen," Albus tucked the photograph of Harry's parents into Lily's journal and pierced Sirius with a searching look, "Harry needs you now more than ever. I trust that you will not let the discovery that he is not genetically linked to James overshadow your feelings for him or your duty to him as a sworn godfather?"

"It will not," he ground out, "do not think that I won't fight you on this Albus. Harry would be better off here with me than with a family which hunts supernatural beings."

"You are a wanted criminal," Severus pointed out with a sneer, "who cannot even leave the confines of his childhood home. Can you imagine what the Ministry would say?"

"I don't give a damn what the Ministry would say!" Sirius' lip curled, "My godson will not be going to live with such vile Muggles; I'd rather die first."

"Well, you know how the saying goes…" Severus countered.

"Boys!" Albus was ready to lob another silencing spell on the men who seemed to have channeled their younger selves quite remarkably well.

"The decision has been made," Albus stood, "Sirius, if you would like to see Harry before he leaves, meet us at the Leaky Cauldron in a week's time. I have other pressing matters to attend to. Severus, if you would be so kind as to accompany me back to Hogwarts," he handed the Floo powder to the bewildered wizard who preceded him into the green flames.

"What if Harry's relatives do not wish to take him in?" Remus asked as Albus prepared to enter the flames, "Even without the knowledge that he is a wizard?"

"Harry will be going," Albus' knuckles gleamed white in the dancing flames, but he turned to face Remus and Sirius, "even now I have a wizard, disguised as social worker, visiting the family, explaining the _mishap _at the fertility clinic. Harry's safety is contingent upon moving him to live with his father no later than a week from today as that is when the wards will fail."

Albus turned his back to the men and threw the Floo Powder into the warm flames, spinning away from them and the unanswered questions which continued to swirl in their minds.


	5. Congratulations! It's a Boy!

**Disclaimer: **See prologue

Opinions, misconceptions, and prejudices of characters within this story do not necessarily reflect the beliefs of the author.

Mild, appropriate, swearing

* * *

Congratulations! It's a Boy!

John couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. The sensation, like a cold hand gripping his spine, had been with him since he had finished the hunt for the La Llorona in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He'd left Dean and Sammy back at their hotel in Tucson, Arizona. It was their latest stop this year.

School was almost out and, in spite of Dean's insistence that he didn't need an education as such; John was resolute in his decision. He believed it is what Mary would have wanted. He could at least give his boys that much normalcy, no matter how much Dean protested and no matter how much he would rather be on the road hunting for the demon which had taken Mary from them.

It would be summer soon enough and then they would hunt as a family once again. Dean would be happy to be able to join him in hunting; Sammy would be excited for the adventure and opportunities to learn about the different places they visited. John would be happy to have his boys with him and be assured of their safety. Maybe they would even stop by Bobby's place and visit the man the boys had deemed an uncle. It all depended upon where the hunt would take them.

He had a couple of hunts lined up for when the boys were able to join him, but was still reluctant to have Sammy in on some of the more dangerous ones. Sammy would be welcome to stay at either Bobby's or Pastor Jim's place. John knew that, given a choice between the two, Sammy would rather stay at 'Uncle' Bobby's given that the man had a huge junkyard for him to explore and a Rottweiler named Rumsfeld, not to mention a library stocked with countless books about the supernatural and other, more innocuous topics. He'd be satisfied for days on end with the library alone if John would allow it.

He'd thought of sparing his sons the ugly reality of their mother's death and the Yellow-Eyed-Demon he sought in vengeance for his wife's death, but hadn't wanted to give up his sons. Maybe he was selfish, but he wanted to keep Dean and Sammy safe and the only way he knew how was to keep them with him, train them how to protect themselves from things that go bump in the night and hunt for the bastard who had taken their mother from them.

As he approached the border between New Mexico and Arizona, John knew, without at doubt, that he'd have to confront whatever or whoever was shadowing him. He just wasn't sure which approach to take and which weapon to have handy. Should he have his salt-filled shotgun on hand or the revolver with iron bullets? It would be so much easier if he just knew what it was that he would be facing.

* * *

"Albus is completely confounded if he thinks that that…that… man is fit to be Harry Potter's father," Minerva McGonagall turned to the young witch accompanying her on this farcical venture. She was in full vent mode and the younger witch was attempting to tune her out. Minerva, as she insisted on being called by the younger witch, had not stopped cursing out the wizard who was responsible for her current predicament.

Linda's office had been contacted by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, founder of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Grand Sorcerer decorated with the Order of Merlin, First Class; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot a week ago. As such, Linda Smith knew that she could not refuse to take the assignment handed down to her by the Chief Warlock of the Southwest Division of Muggle Liaison Affairs.

She was assigned the case by Chief Warlock Waldgrave and had, at first, been quite honored. Truth be told it was her first 'real' assignment. She did not count the one in which a particularly dim young wizard who barely knew his left hand from his right had consequently managed to lose a finger from each while attempting to apparate. It had taken several days to locate the missing fingers and had taken several more to locate and obliviate all of the horrified Muggle witnesses.

Linda had joined the Southwest Division of the Wizardry Investigatory Network as an apprentice a year ago after taking four years of classes which had given her insight into Muggle customs, judicial and societal systems, culture, and language. She was eager to prove herself and move up in the ranks and, so, had enrolled in a Muggle private investigator course over the summer in order to be able to take on assignments which involved the ability to blend into non-wizard society with much more alacrity as the course promised to cover such things as picking locks (not that a simple flick of the wand and a muttered spell couldn't accomplish that) and carrying off a credible disguise.

Now, as she listened to the elderly witch who had been sent to accompany her on this assignment rant yet again, she wished that she had taken the much less interesting approach in her studies. She wished that she had become a regular investigator rather than an undercover agent adept at Muggle disguise, customs, and social systems. Then she would not have been assigned to work undercover as a social worker. Not that she minded that part so much. No, what she minded was having to listen to the witch Albus had sent to help with the case, lament over this Harry Potter kid.

The information which Linda had been given indicated that Harry Potter's biological family needed to be located and informed of his existence. Albus further requested that the Winchesters be asked to take the boy from his current guardians, the Dursleys.

The circumstances surrounding his birth and the death of his surrogate parents were intriguing, but she wondered why things could not be left simply as they were. The boy was being cared for by his surrogate mother's family. Surely he would want to stay with them. He had grown up with them after all. It would be hard for him to leave the only family he had ever known, even if they were not related by DNA.

Additionally, once they located the biological parents and explained the 'mix-up' which had occurred, there was no guarantee that they would take the boy. After all, even though he had a biological connection to them, there was little else to tie them together. They had their own lives to live and may not wish to have a teenage son they had not planned on having in the first place, added to the family. Linda didn't get it, but she knew that this case was important for international relations and she determined that she would do her best, even if it meant having to put up with Minerva McGonagall and her complaints.

"According to the information that I have uncovered on this end," Linda took her eyes off the road for a brief moment as she peered at the elderly witch sitting next to her, "there is ample evidence that John Winchester is Harry Potter's biological father and his deceased wife, Mary, was Harry's biological mother. The doctor who performed the procedure has, however, virtually disappeared, but I have obtained detailed records which were left behind. It appears that he and his staff hastily abandoned the clinic in Topeka about a year and a half after the Potters visited."

She returned her watchful gaze to the road. The car she had been trailing for the past day and a half was still speeding along the highway at a steady pace, giving no indication of stopping, but she kept a watchful eye on it lest it pull off the highway and she lose their quarry.

She was the only witch in the Muggle Liaison Affairs office to have an actual driver's license. Her Muggle parents had insisted that she learn to drive like any other sixteen-year-old in the state of Florida where she had grown up, in spite of being schooled at an exclusive witch-only boarding school in a remote area of Missouri.

"I still do not see what Albus is hoping to accomplish through this," Minerva sniffed and turned her head to look out the passenger window, "Harry has been safe at the Dursley's," she broke off and muttered, _I told that man not to leave him there_, "for the past thirteen years and now, he wants to move the boy to a place in which is infinitely worse."

"I am sure that he has his reasons," Linda tried to keep a lighthearted smile on her face as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel even though she had to admit, reluctantly, that she agreed with Minerva.

It had not been easy to track down John Winchester. He moved around a lot in spite of having two young school age boys with him. After having exhausted nearly every method at her disposal, Linda finally located him at a hotel in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

She and Minerva left for Albuquerque immediately and, though Linda had wanted to approach the man right away, Minerva insisted that they get to know, 'just what sort of Muggle this man is.' And so, they spent two nights together in a cramped hotel room watching John Winchester and his sons Dean and Sam.

Minerva had not been impressed with the man, but thought, grudgingly, that his sons were well behaved. She even mused that the youngest looked like Harry when he had first stepped into Hogwarts, though he appeared to be a bit more confident about himself than Harry had been at that age, not to mention a bit healthier. Harry had always looked somewhat malnourished and unkempt upon his arrival at Hogwarts.

It was through this surveillance of the man that they discovered he was a 'hunter'. Something that Linda had long ago dismissed as urban legend. Tales of 'hunters' who killed supernatural beings without mercy were told to young withes and wizards to keep them from misbehaving. She had heard the tales as a young witch in school and could still remember how they had given her chills of terror at such a vulnerable, impressionable age.

Linda could recall one particularly horrifying story her best friend, Diana, had told her a month after she arrived at school. It involved a family of hunters, including two young children. The family tracked down and disposed of a vast array of supernatural beings, including witches.

_One stormy night, as the story went, a young witch snuck off school grounds to meet a wizard from the nearby wizarding school. They had agreed to meet each other at a certain place near a tree in which their names, along with a score of other witch and wizard couple's names, had been carved. _

_When she arrived, she looked around for her boyfriend, but he wasn't there. She decided to wait, in spite of the storm, and stood beneath the tall tree. It provided some shelter for her, but she still shivered violently in the cold. She waited, listening to the wind whip and howl through the trees. She waited, nearly growing mad with worry. She waited, growing angrier and more desperate as each minute slowly ticked by and he did not show._

_Knowing that she should return to her dorm, but not wanting to get caught, the witch sat down at the base of the tree, leaning against its trunk. Clasping her arms about herself, she rested her head on her knees and placed her wand on the ground at her feet. Overhead, a distinct, rhythmic knocking sound and creaking could be heard, she dismissed it as the sound of the wind in the trees._

_A noise, like that of a child crying, startled her from a sleeplike state and she rose unsteadily to her feet, grasping her wand before her. Certain that the noise which had spooked her was the voice of a child crying out for help, she tentatively stepped away from the shelter of the tree and illuminated her wand._

_Shakily, she searched the ground in front of her for the source of the sound. A bolt of lightning lit the forest around her. It ignited a nearby tree, casting the surrounding forest in an eerie half-light glow. Her heart skipped a beat as she listened intently for the child's voice. Another cry split the night air and she swiveled around, certain that the child was behind her. _

_Lightning lit the area once again, giving the young witch a spot lit view of the tree she had waited beneath. To her horror, the wizard she had waited for swung from a low branch in the tree. Another flash of lightning brought her face to face with a grizzled man who wasted no time in disarming her. A boy, no more than six years old, stood by his side, smiling and watching. The witch, out of her dorm after curfew, was likewise strung up in the tree along with her midnight tryst. _

_Linda had interrupted Diana at this point, wondering how all of this information could have been passed along, given that both the wizard and the witch had allegedly been killed by the 'hunter' and his family. Diana explained that their bodies were discovered swinging from the tree the next morning by one of the groundskeepers. Linda dismissed it as nothing more than myth and tried not to tremble whenever she walked past the tree the story had been based around._

But as she stood shivering in the still, cool air of an early desert morning, watching in mounting terror as John Winchester, in true 'hunter' mythos, grappled with a beautiful woman dressed in white near a ditch filled with little more than an inch of water reality began to sink in. His face was a twisted mask of anger, hatred, and pity.

He managed to escape the woman's grasp and Linda followed him to a graveyard where he dug up and burned the bones of a woman who had been dead for nearly a hundred years. It didn't make sense to her until, just before he threw the match to the lighter fluid soaked bones laying in the coffin, the woman came at him once again. Her face, at once beautiful and revolting, was warped in agonized fury. She attempted to choke the hunter, but he managed to flick a flaming match into the coffin and the otherworldly woman's fingers which were wrapped tight around his throat wisped away in smoky trails as the bones burned.

Though both Linda and Minerva had used a spell which helped render them invisible, they were caught off guard by what happened and apparated away immediately. John Winchester, Harry Potter's biological father, was a hunter. This changed everything. Surely Albus Dumbledore would not place such an important wizarding child in the care of a cruel, heartless hunter.

Linda couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that hunters were real. They existed, and if they existed, then maybe other things which shouldn't exist did as well. If hunters were real, what of the boogeyman? True, there were a number of magical creatures which were well known to her, but hunters, in her mind were akin to monsters. Stories about them were told to entertain and terrify, much as Muggle children might be told stories of witches and goblins.

Minerva wasted no time in contacting Albus through the International Floo Network. The discussion between the two had been heated, and Linda hadn't been privy to it. In the end, Minerva came out of the conference room tightlipped and white faced. The decision was made that, hunter or not, John Winchester should be notified that he had another son and asked to take Harry Potter into his home. Though Minerva had not shared the details of the conversation with Linda, she could see that the witch was less than thrilled with the outcome. She didn't believe that, given what she had witnessed, Mr. Winchester was an ideal candidate for fatherhood. She had even gone so far as to intimate that the two sons he had raised should be removed from his care.

Linda, though, had seen how much the man loved his sons. He may be a ruthless hunter of the supernatural, but she had seen his eyes shine with pride for his eldest son and love for the youngest. There was no doubt in her mind that, even though the man appeared to be gruff and was, quite possibly, in her limited understanding of what a hunter of the supernatural was, an enemy, that he was a father who cared for his boys. _Maybe the biological tie would be enough for him to overlook the fact that Harry Potter was a wizard? She wasn't fully convinced._

As she pulled into the parking lot of the hotel minutes after John Winchester, Linda turned to Minerva, "If you aren't sure about this, maybe we should contact Albus Dumbledore and tell him that we couldn't convince Mr. Winchester to take Harry in; we don't have to go through with this if you believe that the child would be better off where he is." _Linda didn't get it, if Minerva was so against it, why didn't she take matters into her own hands? Why was she following the command of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, even though she felt that his reasoning was faulty?_

"As much as I would like to do that, I must agree with Albus, Harry Potter needs the best protection possible and, with the blood wards failing," Minerva broke off, "much as I disagree with Albus' choice of guardian, he believes that Harry will be safest in his biological father's care, hunting status notwithstanding."

"How will this boy be kept safe with a hunter?" Linda wondered incredulously. She had done further research on John Winchester while Minerva conversed with Albus and found out that he had a daunting reputation among hunters.

_In spite of his obvious love for his boys, she remained skeptical that his love would be extended to a son of supernatural status. Was it possible for a hunter of his obvious standing to put aside his general hatred for the supernatural and love that which he would naturally oppose? Even if he overcame this formidable obstacle, how would it affect his reputation among other hunters? Would they attempt to harm the son of a hunter if it became known that he was what they would term a supernatural freak? Would he be safe with John Winchester if it came out that he was a wizard?_

"Albus," Minerva snorted, "believes that love will prevail. He believes that love will conquer any prejudice which Mr. Winchester may have in regard to magic. He also believes that, given Mr. Winchester's past and the fact that he has managed to keep his other two sons with him throughout the years after his wife's death, he will provide adequate care and ample protection for Harry. He actually believes that Harry will be safer with the Winchesters because they are hunters." The nearly inaudible huff accompanying Minerva's words left no doubt in Linda's mind what the old witch thought of this.

"Here goes nothing," Linda muttered as she swept her dark hair up into a ponytail and plucked up the briefcase resting between herself and Minerva. Glancing once in the rearview mirror to check her makeup, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and stepped out of the car. Minerva followed her to the door of the hotel room they had carefully watched Mr. Winchester enter and knocked once.

"Who's there?" A gruff voice, muffled by the door, called out. Linda could see the curtains of the window near the door shift and settle back into place.

"Child Protective Services," Minerva wasted no time, her no nonsense voice rang out crisp and cool in the early afternoon air.

_Shit, Child Protective Services! What the hell had happened? Both boys knew the cover story well by now. He'd have to go over it with them again and they'd have to leave town as soon as they got out of school, maybe he'd even pick them up from school when the social workers left. _John contemplated remaining silent and waiting for the women to leave, but thought better of it. The boys were still at school, but would be returning to the hotel room in a matter of hours. He didn't want to run the risk of the social workers waiting outside for them and snatching them away before he had a chance to stop them.

Stashing the shotgun beneath the nearest bed, he quickly picked up a few items of clothing which had been strewn about the room and stuffed them into the dresser. Taking a quick look at himself in the mirror, he grimaced at the stubble on his chin. _No time to shave now_, he reasoned. _Maybe they won't notice the bruising along my jaw; _he carefully tucked his shirt into his muddy jeans and plastered a smile on his face just as a second rap sounded on the door.

"One moment," he double-checked to make sure that his silver buck knife was handy and opened the door. A very dour looking woman dressed in a black button down dress who bore a strange resemblance to a nun he used to know, brusquely brushed past him into the room. Her eyes swept the room and John could almost read the disapproving thoughts in them. Another younger woman clutching a briefcase, followed in her wake. _Damn this didn't look good._

"Mr. John Winchester?" The older one inquired. Her voice was clipped and she sounded British.

"Yes ma'am," John inclined his head politely, trying to appease this woman who reminded him more and more of Sister Margarita by the moment. He'd learned the hard way not to get on that woman's bad side and was trying his damndest not to get on this woman's bad side, though at the moment he couldn't see an alternative 'good side' to get on.

"Minerva McGonagall," the elderly woman held out her hand and John took it, "this is my assistant Linda Smith. We are here on behalf of Child Protective Services to discuss a matter of great importance with you. Perhaps it would be best if we were seated," without waiting for invitation she took one of the chairs seated around the flimsy hotel room table and gestured for Linda and himself to take the other two chairs.

Once they were all seated, Minerva wasted no time with pleasantries, "Mr. Winchester, as I have indicated, we are here to discuss a matter of great importance with you that involves a child currently…"

"Now just wait a minute," John held up a hand to stop the woman, flinching slightly at the fierce look she pierced him with, "was a complaint filed against me?"

"No Mr. Winchester, a complaint was not filed against you. Now, if you would let me continue, I believe we could clear this all up before your boys return from school," Minerva smoothed down the front of her dress, oblivious of the look of choler which darkened his features. The look, however, was not lost on Linda.

"What does this have to do with my boys?" He could barely keep the trepidation, forming an icy grip on his throat, from finding its way into his voice. He was not going to let these women know how their words had affected him.

"Mr. Winchester, we are not here regarding Dean or Samuel," Minerva's eyes sparked and her nostrils flared, "please have the common decency to listen."

"I _am_ listening," John was livid. _These 'social workers,' if that is what they really were, had, for all he knew, been the ones following him through two states. What kind of social worker did that? He'd dealt with his share of social workers and none of them gone so far as to follow him though two states, let alone come from another country. Maybe it was part of some international mentorship program. If they weren't here for Dean and Sammy, what was it that they were here for? If they were here for Dean and Sammy, he'd have to navigate the questioning carefully._

"We are here regarding something of a rather sensitive nature," Linda began, "please listen to what we have to say and then, if you have questions, we will be glad to address them." She pulled a folder from her briefcase and passed it over to John.

"Awhile back, due to a…an…incident," Minerva did not know how else to phrase the return of the darkest wizard of her time, "a child's parentage came into question. Upon further investigation into the matter, it was discovered that this child was not conceived naturally."

"If this is about Dean," John interrupted, "Mary and I went to a fertility clinic in Topeka. He is biologically our son and he is _natural_," seething, John bit down on his tongue, trying to control his temper.

"I believe that I have already addressed that particular concern, this is not about Dean or Samuel Winchester," Minerva snapped, "as I was saying," she shot John a scathing look, "this child, grew up under the misconception that he was the son of people who, as it turns out, were not his biological parents. He is currently living with an aunt and uncle who, given the reality of the situation, are of no relation to him whatsoever."

Seeing the mounting confusion and anger coloring John Winchester's face, Linda gestured to the folder still resting on the table between them, "I understand that this is confusing Mr. Winchester, but the child whom my colleague is speaking of is your son."

"If it's not Dean and it can't be Sammy," John's face was red in spite of his attempt at controlling his anger, "then who the hell are you talking about?" _Sammy's conception had come as a surprise to both Mary and John as they had been told they would be unable to conceive children on their own. It was why they had chosen to go to a fertility clinic in the first place. _

_The doctor at the fertility clinic they had used nearly four years prior had disappeared and the doctors at the hospital could find no damage to Mary's womb or reproductive organs. Had they been lied to in the first place or was it a miracle as Mary insisted? One which Mary attributed to the young, red-haired woman who had visited them when Dean was just a little under a year old. She said that when the woman hugged her as they parted, she felt a tingling sensation which warmed her and made her feel different somehow. Thinking back on this, John grew suspicious, but at the time, he was content to believe along with Mary that a miracle had been performed._

"I am speaking of the child which you and your late wife signed away to be carried by another couple," Minerva flipped open the manila folder and jabbed a finger onto the document showing the signatures of a much younger John and Mary Winchester.

"Wait a minute," John was seeing red, "what do you mean the child that Mary and I signed away? We never gave any such consent. Dr. Benson had us sign release forms to use our case in a medical paper." His eyes quickly scanned the document which had been shoved none too delicately under his nose.

His heart slammed violently against his ribcage as he re-read the papers he had only hastily perused fifteen odd years ago. He had known there was something off about the man, and couldn't quite put his finger on it at the time. Mary had brushed it off as him being overprotective. He had been happy to look the other way to please her.

Now, he understood what it was about the doctor that seemed a bit off: the man was a shark. A cold, calculating shark out for money that preyed on vulnerable couples like Mary and him. John wondered just how many couples had fallen victim to the 'doctor' and vowed that he would track the man down and put an end to his 'business'. Engrossed in his own tormented thoughts of revenge, John missed what the two social workers were saying.

"…and so we are returning your son to you, he will be arriving, at a location of your choosing of course," Minerva paused narrowing her eyes at John, "in one week's time to spend the summer with you."

"I'm sorry," John blinked, "what?" His eyes roamed toward a picture resting on the table at his elbow. A boy with a shock of black hair and startling green eyes which reminded him of Mary, stared out at him from the photograph. He looked so much like him when he was a kid, except for the eyes, those were Mary's. Picking the photo up, he peered at it closely, noting that the boy's smile looked strained and his forehead bore a scar shaped like a lightning bolt. He absentmindedly traced a finger along it wondering what had happened to give the boy such an oddly shaped scar.

"What my colleague was saying," Linda placed an apologetic hand on John's arm, "was that you have another biological son. He was born to a couple who visited the same clinic you and Mary visited. Dr. Benson implanted one of Mary's frozen embryos into Lily Potter who unfortunately passed away when the child was just over a year old, her husband passed away as well. His current guardians are unable to care for him and so we sought you out, hoping that you would be able to take him in rather than making him a ward of the state." Linda knew that, given how much time, effort, and money had been poured into this, Harry would not be made a ward of the state, but felt that John would need something like that to motivate him.

"Wait a minute," John looked up from the photograph, "you track me down in Albuquerque, New Mexico, to tell me that Mary and I have a son who was born to another couple who visited the same clinic we did and that I need to take him in?"

Minerva nodded, "Yes. Harry Potter is your biological son and he needs you."

"How do I know that what you are telling me is true? Do you have any proof that this kid is my son?" He thumped the picture onto the table.

"The proof is in the documents we have compiled for you," Minerva nodded toward the file which remained open between them.

"This doesn't prove anything," John stood; ready to throw the two women out forcibly if necessary. The whole story was ridiculous. It just wasn't possible.

"Take a seat," Minerva ordered and John found his legs obeying in spite of his desire not to, "look at the papers. I think that you will find they will more than adequately provide the _proof_ that you need."

Reluctantly, John rifled through the papers, catching a word here and there. Mary and he had been negligent in reading the paperwork Dr. Benson had asked them to sign. They had trusted him and he had deceived them. It appeared that they had not been the only couple to be deceived. He took little comfort in that knowledge.

A black-and-white picture slid to the table and John grasped it in both hands, scrutinizing it. It was of a smiling couple. The photograph in and of itself was nothing special, it reminded John of the one which Dr. Benson had taken of Mary and him after she had successfully conceived Dean through in vitro fertilization.

What had John gaping in bewilderment was the fact that the woman clearly pictured in the fading photograph was the mysterious woman who had visited Mary and him so long ago. Her visit had puzzled him off-and-on over the years, at times he wondered if the visit hadn't been a fabrication of his mind. Now, however, it was blatantly confirmed; she hadn't been a figment of his imagination.

Her questions, the way she looked at Dean with such longing and love, her furtive glances at Mary, and her heartfelt, "Thank you," all made sense now. This mysterious woman had borne their son. John wondered if she had been given a choice in which couple's child she would bear or if the doctor had chosen for her. In any event, it did not matter; this photograph confirmed the veracity of the social workers' claims, at least in part.

Swallowing, John raised wary eyes to the women, "Is this the woman…" he couldn't finish the question around the lump in his throat. He and Mary had another son. It was too much for him to fathom and much too hard to accept all at once.

"Yes, that is Harry's mother, or rather the woman who gave birth to your son," Minerva hastily corrected, "Lily Potter and the man who raised him as a son until his death, James Potter." Minerva's eyes shone with emotion and her voice had a choked quality to it.

"I met her once," John commented almost to himself, "she visited Mary and me when Dean was about ten months old. She even held Dean and talked about how she and her husband were unable to conceive children. We told her about Dr. Benson."

"She must have seen something that she liked about you and Mary," Minerva's voice softened, "after all it was your child that she chose to call her own." She placed a gentle hand on John's.

"I recognize her from the photograph, but that doesn't mean this kid," John racked his mind for the boy's name, "Harry, is my son. I would like to have a paternity test to confirm this."

"A paternity test will be performed at a hospital of your choosing," Linda pulled out papers for John to sign and a vial to collect a DNA sample from John, "would you like to have the results to be sent here?"

"What?" John looked up into the woman's bright blue eyes, "Here? Uh, no, I'd like to have the results sent to the following address," he wrote down Bobby Singer's address and phone number on a sheet of hotel stationary and handed it to the young woman.

"Once this paternity test confirms that Harry is your son, are you willing to take him in?" Minerva eyed John scrupulously.

"On a trial basis," John wasn't sure he even wanted to commit to that much, but the memory of Lily Potter and his wife caused him to at least give it a try. Both women's green eyes hovered before him in memory as he looked at the photograph of the boy who seemed so young and vulnerable.

_Would Harry be able to live the life he and his sons were living? Could he justify bringing another child up as a hunter? Maybe the boy would be better off living a normal childhood, safe from the horrors Dean and Sammy had to face on a daily basis. _

"It would only be for the summer," Minerva cleared her throat, "Harry would be returning to his boarding school come September."

"Why can't he stay with his aunt and uncle?" John stared at the photograph of his son. Not wanting to drag another Winchester into the world of the supernatural, he hesitated. _Surely Harry would be better off not knowing about the existence of ghosts, poltergeists, demons, and other monsters. If he could spare one Winchester from such a nightmarish existence, he would do so, even if it meant never meeting the son who should have, by all rights, been Mary's and his._

"Unfortunately, given the fact that Harry Potter is not related to the Dursleys, he is unable to continue living there," Linda stated, "he would be placed in a home for boys or at an orphanage if you do not take him in." She had no idea if that is what would really happen, but wanted to give Mr. Winchester more of an incentive to take the boy. Hoping that she had sized him up correctly, she crossed her fingers and waited for him to respond.

"It would be just for the summer?" John paused.

"Yes," Minerva supplied, "Harry's summer term has already begun. It started about a week ago and he will be sent to you in a week's time, provided that you are willing and able to take him into your home."

"Once I get the paternity test confirmed, I will take him in for the summer and see how it goes," John reluctantly agreed_._

_He was already formulating a plan of action to keep the supernatural world a secret from Harry and Harry safe from the world of the supernatural at the same time. It wouldn't be easy, but he could do it with Bobby's help. It would only be for a short while anyway. He would need to give the man a call._

"Great," Minerva plastered a smile on her face, only her tone of voice gave away her true feelings, "we shall arrange to have Harry Potter delivered to you."

"Once the paternity is confirmed," John reiterated, "I will be able to pick him up from the airport in South Dakota."

"Yes, of course," Linda gathered the DNA sample John had provided, a strand of hair, and the scattered paperwork, leaving John with the photographs, "you should receive the results in less than a week's time." She stood and waited for Minerva to join her.

John held the door open for both women, relieved that his sons had not returned from school yet. _Maybe he would be able to pick them up before school was out; he needed some time to refine his plan and wanted to obtain Bobby's help as soon as possible. He wouldn't tell Dean and Sammy about Harry until he knew for sure that he was their brother and that he would be coming to stay with them for the summer. _

"We will keep in touch with you through the number and address you have provided," Minerva nodded to him as she left the hotel room. She paused on her way out the door and turned to look at John, "Harry is a special boy with a heart of gold. He has been through a lot this year, you be sure to take good care of him." Her eyes sparked in challenge.

"Of course," John inclined his head in acknowledgement.

As he watched the two women climb into their car and drive away, he looked down at the picture in his hand, frowning at the boy's resemblance to himself and his late wife. Folding it; he placed it in his wallet. He vowed to do all he could to protect the boy in it from the supernatural world he hadn't been able to protect Dean and Sammy from, the world which had claimed the life of his wife, and the world which would no doubt one day claim his own. Until that day, he would protect his sons. As selfish as it was to keep them with him, he knew that he would never, in a million years, give them up. Knowing what he knew about the world and knowing how dangerous it was for them to live in it without his protection made it impossible for him to do so.

Gathering their things, he checked out of the hotel and drove to the school. The boys would have an early summer, he knew Dean wouldn't mind, Sammy would be disappointed, but the promise of spending the summer at Uncle Bobby's would appease him. Now he would just have to figure out how to tell his sons about Harry Potter and get them to help keep their lives as hunters a secret from him. It was going to be an interesting summer, one he hoped that he wouldn't regret.


	6. Of Potions, Dark Lords and Luck

**Disclaimer: **See prologue

Of Potions, Dark Lords, and Luck

Albus' Office, Hogwarts

"Albus," Severus paced in front of his long time mentor, "I must strongly advise against this."

"And I," Albus spoke warily, "am afraid that I must insist. It is for Harry's safety and for the safety of his entire family." _All of his research into the Winchester family pointed to the patriarch being a competent, deadly assassin of the supernatural, who had but one flaw: his undisputed love for his children. It was this love which the elder wizard was counting on. Love had saved Harry once before, he was counting on it to save him once again. _

_It was also this love which could put them in harm's way as John, from what Albus had gathered, did not back down from anything which put his boys in danger. Albus did not doubt that John would come to love Harry as he did, possibly more so, however, he knew that if John were to discover Harry's ties to the supernatural world it would place all four Winchesters in insurmountable danger. Albus would do all in his power to, not only keep Harry safe, but his family from uncovering the truth, believing that it was the only way to protect them all from the Dark Lord._

"Albus," Severus stopped his pacing to sneer at the Headmaster, "there is no way for me to determine the potential harm weekly dosages of a potion which suppresses magical abilities will have on a young wizard. For all I know it could render the user a virtual squib for the rest of his life. I would think that you, given your doting love for the boy, would be more opposed to this absurd proposal than myself." Exhausted, he flung himself into a nearby chair.

"Remind me again Severus," Albus rested his elbows on his desk, piercing Severus' onyx eyes with those of steely blue, "just how Voldemort took the news that Harry was not the son of a wizarding couple, that he was not a Potter as he had thought."

Snarling, Severus cast a dark look at the wizened wizard sitting across from him, "He was infuriated mostly that he had chosen the 'wrong' child from the prophecy. He exacted fury on those of us present, subjecting me to a more variegated form of torture than all the rest as I was the one responsible for delivering said prophecy to the self-promulgated potentate. He held me responsible for his failure to kill a mere _mudblood_," Severus spat the last word as though it had left a bad taste in his mouth.

"And of Harry's ability to defeat him?" Albus prodded.

"He believes that the prophecy must be about another child and has ordered his followers to search for him," Severus leaned back in his chair as though exhausted, "which has lead to increased protection for Longbottom. He desires to kill both boys, though, just to be safe. Are you sure that the prophecy still points to Harry?"

"Yes," Albus stated matter-of-factly, "Voldemort chose Harry after all, whether mistaken in his choice or not. He is the only one who can defeat him. Lily and James were Harry's parents in every sense of the word aside from biology. Lily chose to give him, not only life, but her very heart. James too, unaware of Lily's deception, loved him as a son. Harry's life, it seems, has been shaped by choices that he has not made, but of which he will arbitrarily be held accountable for. It falls upon us to take advantage of Voldemort's erroneous judgment based on age-old prejudices against Muggle-borns, though I marvel at how he can discount Harry's ability to defeat him given that he used the boy's blood to regain his own strength…" Albus broke off, musing.

"The Dark Lord has been known to perpetuate that particular prejudice amongst his believers; there is nothing to marvel at in that Albus," Severus cut into the headmaster's reverie, "it is also a prejudice which many pure bloods hold, even if they do not associate with the Dark Lord. Muggle-borns are viewed as contemptible and are not highly regarded in wizard society."

"That misjudgment will lead to Voldemort's defeat," Albus spoke the words almost to himself, before fully turning his attention once more to Severus, "And his acrimony toward Harry's true biological family?"

"He made it clear that, once he, meaning I, determine their whereabouts, they will be made to suffer for this deception," Severus refused to look Albus in the eye, hating the man for causing him to recall that dreaded evening which had lasted an eternity.

"Given what I have learned of John Winchester, were he to learn of Harry's link to the supernatural world, he and his sons would stand by him," he held up a hand to stop Severus' attempt to interrupt him, "and in so doing, would willingly forfeit their lives should it come down to that. Harry has already suffered a number of losses in his young life. He will be experiencing yet another one when I reveal to him that the people he thought were his parents are in fact not his parents and that, while he has a family, he must keep his magical abilities secret, not only for his sake, but for theirs. Additionally, it will fall on my shoulders to explain to him that his biological mother is deceased."

"I still do not see the necessity of having the boy take a weekly dosage of a magical suppressant," Severus glowered.

"Severus," Albus waited until the man met his gaze, "practically every summer since Harry has come to Hogwarts, there has been an incident involving accidental magic in his home. Without the magical suppressant, I fear that, given the emotional state that young Harry is currently in, coupled with the revelations he will soon be privy to, he will be unable to control his baser magical impulses."

"The boy does have a tendency to go to extremes," Severus snorted, "even so – I do not believe this is the safest course of action. This potion which you have so casually asked me to brew is one which has been declared illegal by the Ministry of Magic and almost every other country which has a magical governing board, including the United States where Harry will be residing for the summer."

"I understand the risk which I have asked you to undertake," Albus stated, "and would beg you to understand that I have not asked this of you casually."

"You misunderstand me," Severus rolled the words he was about to utter around in his head, "this potion is one of barely a dozen others to be declared illegal, not because it is poisonous, but rather because of its ability to render the partaker of said potion utterly vulnerable and defenseless. Additionally, it strips the drinker of his innate abilities to perform magic. Do you really believe that the boy, given his propensity to attract danger, will be safe without the ability to perform even the simplest of spells should the need arise?"

Albus remained silent, seemingly lost deep in thought. Severus pressed on, "I fail to see how it would benefit Po…er, _the boy_, to be left without any magical defenses. As a matter of fact, it could put him in even more danger, especially if it were to leave him little more than a squib after this summer. Surely the risk to Harry, to the entire wizarding world, is far too great."

"Severus," Albus pinned the Potions Professor with a hard, determined look, "I have complete confidence in your abilities. He will need ten doses to be on the safe side. I trust that you have adeptly brewed the potion to meet Harry's unique needs."

"Even so," Severus countered, "I cannot, in good conscience, condone prolonged use of this potion. The fate of the wizarding world rests in Po…er Harry's abilities to defeat the Dark Lord. He cannot do so unless he possesses full faculty of his powers."

"Severus, as much as I enjoy a good debate, Harry needs to be moved tonight. Death Eater activity has been increasing, as you well know, and Voldemort is now well aware that the blood wards in his current dwelling are unable to protect him for much longer," Albus spoke warily.

_He really had given this plan much thought and, as relevant as Severus' arguments were, knew that, given that Severus was foremost in the field of potions, it was the best option available to them. It was the safest for Harry and the Winchesters. Severus may doubt his own abilities, but Albus did not. He knew that Severus would be able to brew a potion which would not render Harry a squib and keep the Winchesters safely in the dark about Harry's magical abilities._

"This is not a debate Albus! The entire wizarding world is counting on Harry to defeat the Dark Lord, is there nothing I can say to sway you from this foolhardy plan?" Severus returned Albus' stare.

"No, my boy, I'm afraid not," Albus smiled tightly before pinching the bridge of his nose and lowering his head, "Severus, if there was another way, believe me, I would take it. My only desire is to keep Harry and the Winchester's safe to the best of my ability."

"Perhaps," Severus chose his words carefully, "perhaps Po…er _Harry_, could be persuaded to control his magic by other means."

Knowing where Severus was going with this, yet needing to hear the words himself, Albus questioned, "And what other means would you suggest?"

"Wouldn't it be far less dangerous to simply subject him to a powerful suggestion which he would be unable to resist?" Severus spoke cautiously.

"And how do you propose I do that? Should I have the boy take an Unbreakable Vow of silence and add to that a promise not to perform any magic?" Albus wondered aloud.

"No," Severus glowered, "merely a strong hypnotic suggestion which could be reversed upon his return."

"Almost as dangerous as taking the potion to suppress his magic, possibly even more so as the mind is a delicate mechanism," Albus countered.

"I am not suggesting that you use the Imperious Curse Albus," Severus' patience was beginning to wear thin, "just that you make a suggestion to the boy which he cannot help but follow."

"Severus," Albus held up a hand to still the Potion's Master's voice, "I understand the risks being taken by you and Harry and I take full responsibility for whatever consequences may result."

"And nothing I can say will dissuade you?" Severus made one more attempt at altering the headmaster's plan.

Shaking his head, Dumbledore stood, "Severus, trust me, I have thought this through."

Not bothering to mask his skepticism, Severus carefully handed ten vials of the light green liquid to the elderly wizard, "I hope you are right, more is at risk than a boy and his family."

"Thank you Severus," Albus nodded his consensus, fully aware of the potions master's apprehension, "and now I must be off to inform young Harry of his true parentage."

"I do not envy you that," Severus grimaced.

"Nor I you of your status as spy," Albus frowned.

"As you said, Harry's life has been shaped by the choices of others," Severus allowed, "mine, however, has been shaped by choices all my own," he held up a hand to stop Albus' protest, "ill-informed as they were. And do not think that all of this expostulation on my part has been borne of a new respect and love for the young miscreant. My dislike of the boy has, if anything, increased knowing that Lily died for a child that wasn't truly her own. My only interest in him is in his ability to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Severus," Albus' voice took on a chiding tone, "Harry was Lily's child as much as you are disinclined to admit. She loved him as a true mother would and sacrificed herself accordingly. As I have said before and stake my very life on, Harry will defeat Voldemort and Lily's love for him is the key to his defeat."

"That may well be," Severus ground out, "but it does not endear the child to me."

Sighing, Albus placed the precious vials into a safe container, and grasped a handful of Floo powder, "No, it wouldn't. And now, my dear boy, I must be going. If you would be so kind as to hand over the photograph of the young couple which happen to be Harry's biological parents to me, I will be on my way; it will be most useful in explaining the situation to Harry." Albus' eyes twinkled as Severus reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled the folded photo out. Handing it over, he swept out of the room with a flourish, his robes billowing as Albus called out his destination.

On the Road to South Dakota

Try as he might, John just couldn't find the right words to tell his sons that they had a brother. _A brother who would soon be coming to live with them_, he reminded himself as he watched Dean sleep, slumped against the passenger door of the Impala. It would mean revealing to Dean the true nature of his birth.

He didn't know how to broach the subject with either of the boys and had excused their early departure from school on a hunt for a poltergeist. It was a paltry excuse at best, but Dean had been more than eager to leave another year of school behind. Sammy was disappointed, but, as John predicted, he was excited about spending the bulk of the summer at Bobby's.

_John contacted the seasoned hunter shortly after the visit from the social workers. He had explained the situation to him, and even though Bobby was as skeptical as he, the hunter had agreed to let John call his place 'home' for the summer or until he sent the kid packing should it be proved that he wasn't John's son after all. _

_Bobby had agreed to watch the boys on occasion, stating unequivocally that he was not a babysitter, and should he need to go on a hunt, he would not hesitate to do so, whether John was there or not. Both men knew that Dean was more than capable of watching out for Sammy and, by extension, would be able to watch out for Harry as well should the need arise._

Though he had used the poltergeist as an excuse to get the boys on the road before school was completely out, defeating the actual entity itself had been grueling. He had not come away from the encounter unscathed; his shoulder ached painfully from where the poltergeist had sliced into it before tossing him into the wall. Dean's wrist had been sprained and Sammy was a little bruised.

After wrapping Dean's wrist and ascertaining that Sammy's bruises weren't indicative of internal injuries, he had Dean dress his shoulder wound and got the boys into the Impala and headed for Bobby's. He knew that he would be cutting it close to the time when he was supposed to pick the kid up from the airport, but hoped that, if he drove straight through the night, he would be able to sleep a few hours before meeting the boy. His flight was scheduled to arrive at five the next morning and it was coming along midnight. If he sped, and if luck were on his side, he might be able to reach Bobby's around three am.

Luck, in his personal experience, however, was rarely on the side of the Winchesters. _Maybe Harry's experience would be different_, he mused as he thought of the boy with the dark messy hair and Mary's eyes_. Maybe because he was raised by a normal family without the fear of the things that Dean and Sammy had grown up with, he would have a chance at a semi-normal life untainted by the supernatural. _


	7. Good Riddance

**Disclaimer: **See prologue

**A/N**: Physical, mental, and emotional abuse, as well as neglect are mentioned in this chapter, though not overtly so; please read with caution

* * *

Good Riddance

"Harry," Dumbledore placed an old weathered hand on the boy who stood so stiff and angry before him. Harry shook it off, looking at the picture Dumbledore had handed him. A young couple stared up at him out of the non-magical photograph. They didn't blink or move the way pictures of his parents given to him by Hagrid did. _Or rather who he had believed to be his parents up until a few moments, or was it hours, ago._

Until Dumbledore invaded his summer 'home' and pulled the proverbial rug out from under him he had been blissfully unaware that his life was even more freakish than he previously thought. _Wouldn't Draco have a field day with this type of dirt on him? He could just picture him in the Slytherin common room, Crabbe and Goyle at his side, as they laughed about Harry's truly messed up family. At least no one would be able to call him, "Potty," anymore. Just what was his new last name anyway? If what Dumbledore had told him was even true that is._

He had been looking at the photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year when Dumbledore's arrival, announced by a loud crash issuing from the living room, like the blast of a gunshot, and a scream from Aunt Petunia which could most likely be heard miles away from Privet Drive, demanded his attention. Uncle Vernon had called up to him in his booming voice, "GET DOWN HERE NOW, BOY!"

Harry hastily stashed the photo album beneath the loose floorboard in his room and virtually flew down the stairs. Such a racket from his family could only mean one thing; one of 'his kind,' as they were termed had arrived via the fireplace. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were bound to be a little more than angry at such an intrusion. Harry was merely intrigued.

_Who would be calling on him from the magical world in the first few weeks of summer? He hadn't had one instance of accidental magic yet. He was plagued by nightmares, but they were ordinary, garden variety nightmares. If one could call reliving the rising of the darkest wizard known to the wizarding world and the death of a classmate through nightly dreams which ended with his screaming or crying, 'ordinary,' that is._

When he saw Dumbledore standing in the living room, neither his aunt nor uncle had offered the towering wizard a seat, he steeled himself for bad news. The elderly wizard had never visited him at the Dursley's. _Had something happened to his godfather?_ His heart skipped a beat, making it difficult for him to breathe properly. He shakily entered the living room, inching around the rather bulky form of his 'dieting' cousin who was cowering near the bottom of the stairs in fear.

Dumbledore greeted him with a tight smile and asked Petunia if he could, "talk privately," with her nephew. To which Uncle Vernon had sternly replied that whatever had to be said to, "Harry," should be said in the presence of his, "legal guardians." Harry's jaw had nearly dropped when his name issued forth from Uncle Vernon's tightly pursed lips and, as far as he could see, no pigs were flying and the man did not spontaneously combust like Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes.

When Aunt Petunia finally found her voice, she ushered Dumbledore and Harry into the kitchen, placating Vernon and leading him back to the living room. Harry was sure that it was she who turned on the television to give the wizards some 'privacy' for their conversation.

He understood why his own room, though ideal for most teens his age, would not be an acceptable place for him to speak with his Headmaster. The bars on the window and the multiple locks on the outside of the door might alert the old man that, as he had intimated over the years, Harry did not return to paradise over the summers. No, his aunt and uncle would definitely want to hide, from the most powerful wizard alive, the fact that one of his students was, for all intents and purposes, imprisoned during the summer holiday.

It was in the kitchen, therefore, with the muted sound of the TV leaking into their conversation from time to time that Dumbledore revealed to Harry that he was not Harry Potter. He had prepared himself for all sorts of bad news, from Sirius being returned to Azkaban; to the Weasley's being tortured for information of his whereabouts by masked Death Eaters; to Hermione's family being murdered by Voldemort himself.

"What happened?" Harry sat on the edge of the chair, tense with anxiety, "What happened to Sirius? Or was it the Weasleys or the Grangers?" His voice had taken on a frantic edge and the Headmaster reached a steady hand across the table to rest on Harry's rigid arm.

"Tell me what happened," he finished more calmly, determined to face the consequences of what had happened at the end of the Triwizard Tournament with bravery he didn't feel. Prepared to face anything, even the worst possibilities, he willed his heart to beat at a less rapid pace.

Images from the nightmares which plagued him nightly flashed before him in slow motion: _Sirius staring up at him with lifeless eyes; Hermione's body, torn and bloodied strewn across Tom Riddle's open grave; Ron, under the Imperious Curse, performing Wormtail's function in the ceremony which brought Voldemort back to life…on and on the nightmare wound its way into the present._

"Harry," Dumbledore waited until Harry lifted his tired, terror glazed eyes to his, "Harry, calm down, everyone is all right; Sirius and your friends are safe."

Harry sighed in relief, missing the look of concern the Headmaster cast in his direction as he took in Harry's exhausted appearance. _Sirius, the Weasley's, the Grangers were all safe. There was nothing to worry about. _His shoulders sagged as he let go of the tension that had kept him sitting on the edge of his chair while Dumbledore continued to speak. _Everything was okay, his godfather was safe, his friends were safe, nothing else mattered._

So, when Dumbledore handed him a tattered, well-worn photograph of an unanimated couple and uttered the sentence which would forever alter his life, "I am afraid I have some unusual news, Harry, your parents aren't Lily and James Potter," Harry wasn't listening. His mind was still joyfully reveling in the fact that Sirius and his friends were safe and alive.

"This is a picture of Mary and John Winchester, your mother and father," the words of the Headmaster didn't even register in Harry's relieved, yet overtaxed mind. The last two weeks of mostly sleepless nights, endless chores, carefully rationed scraps of food, non-stop fear, and heartache had taken their toll on him. He was holding onto reality by a thin thread at best.

Curiously, he flipped over the picture he held and read the ink smudged words on the back. They had faded over time and were barely legible, but Harry was able to decipher them, _**Harry's biological parents**__. Was that in his mother's handwriting? _The words buzzed in his ears, drowning out whatever else the Headmaster was saying, for the old man had not stopped talking in spite of the fact that Harry had long since stopped listening. Harry could see the man's lips moving, his mind registered the thought that he should probably say something in return, but he couldn't hear what was being said over the buzzing in his head.

He flipped the photo over once again and peered at it more closely. The couple in it stared up at him with unblinking eyes, their smiles fixed in time. They seemed happy and carefree. Completely safe from the world in which Harry lived: free from the constant fear of a crazed dark wizard trying to kill them, free from flashes of green light which brought instantaneous death, free from everything which tainted his own life…

He gazed with envy at them, their love for each other was apparent in the way each one's arm was entwined around the other's waist. It was the same love he saw in the magically altered photos Hagrid had given him of his parents, Lily and James Potter. It was the same love he had been denied witnessing firsthand growing up, but had seen displayed by Ron's parents.

Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's love, if that is what it was that they had for each other, was nothing like the love he beheld in a mere Muggle photograph. Their love paled, severely, in comparison to that of the couple in the faded photograph he currently held in trembling fingers. Unbidden, tears sprang to his eyes and he looked up at the Headmaster, meeting the man's sad blue eyes with tear-warped green ones.

"Harry?" The Headmaster's voice was just above a whisper, "I understand that this must be quite a shock for you and it is a lot for you to take in, especially after the year you've had."

"I'm sorry, what?" Harry shook his head to clear it, blinking back his foolish tears, confusion warred with a sudden sense of foreboding and an overwhelming heaviness in his heart that he could not explain, "What were you saying?"

"Oh Harry," Dumbledore's eyes watered, confusing Harry even more, "That photograph," he waited until Harry looked at it once more, "is of your biological parents. Do you understand?"

Stopping half-nod, Harry shook his head, bewildered. Dumbledore's words didn't make sense. Maybe it was because he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, being torn from a merciless nightmare by his irascible uncle, but the Headmaster's words held no meaning for him whatsoever. The buzzing in his head had all but ceased, but the words issuing from Dumbledore's lips seemed to be nonsense. It was as though he were speaking a foreign language.

"Harry, you are not the son of Lily and James Potter," Dumbledore grasped his hand and the physical contact seemed to serve as a catalyst. Harry's heart plummeted and he began to shake.

_Not the son of Lily and James Potter? The words on the back of the photograph suddenly jumped to the forefront of his mind as they began to take on meaning for him, __**Harry's biological parents**__. The man in the picture, with his dark, untamed hair and the woman with flowing honey-blonde hair and green eyes, they were his parents. Not the beautiful, fiery-haired, green eyed witch, Lily, or the dark-haired, glasses bearing wizard, James. _

_His whole life had been based upon one lie after another. First, it was the lies that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had tried to instill in him: magic does not exist, Lily and James Potter had been killed in a car crash, James was a no good drunk, and Harry was a worthless, no account freak. Then it was the lies he had uncovered at school: the betrayal of his parents by their best friend Sirius, Hogwarts was a safe haven for young witches and wizards where no harm could befall them, and Dumbledore was an all-powerful, all-knowing, wise wizard. _

_Now, he was being told that he was not really even Harry Potter. He was someone else's son. He could have had an entirely different life, one in which a dark wizard was not after him. One in which he would not need to contemplate never having friends because of the possible danger knowing him placed them in. One in which magic did not exist. One in which he could have had a normal life and, if the picture was anything to go by, one in which he could have known what it was like to be loved._

"What do you mean; he's not Lily's son?" Petunia's pale, horse like face suddenly appeared in the doorway, like a disembodied spirit. She had gone to the kitchen on the pretence of getting some snacks for Vernon and Dudley, but had spent the last few minutes eavesdropping on her nephew and the famous Headmaster of Hogwarts who unceremoniously had dropped Harry off on her doorstep nearly twelve years earlier.

"Ah, Petunia," Dumbledore eyed the woman warily, "why don't you join us, you need to hear this too. I had wanted to explain the situation to Harry first, but it appears that he is not taking the information too well, maybe your presence will bring him some comfort."

Petunia sat stiffly in the chair that Dumbledore indicated and looked down at her trembling hands on the table, "As I was just explaining to Harry here, Lily and James were unable to have children of their own," he began again, hoping that Harry would understand and that Petunia would help calm him.

"Are you saying that she and James adopted him? He looks too much like James," Petunia scoffed.

"Please hold your questions until after I have explained," Dumbledore waited for the woman to nod before resuming, "let's see, where was I? Lily and James were unable to have children on their own so they chose to go down an alternative path through a Muggle process known as in vitro fertilization. Their own genetic material was unable to formulate a fetus therefore Lily chose an American couple, through the clinic she and James visited on their trip to the States, to be the genetic donors for their son Harry. She chose the couple carefully, making sure that there were some similarities between the couple and her and James."

"Wait a minute," Petunia lifted her eyes to Dumbledore's, "you're telling me that Lily, my sister, chose to give birth to a child that was not her own and James'?"

"Yes, Lily chose to carry and give birth to your nephew, Harry," Dumbledore watched Harry out of the corner of his eye, the uncomfortable way in which he twisted in his seat did not go unnoticed by the Headmaster, nor the fact that the presence of his aunt had not had the desired calming effect on him. If anything, it seemed to make him more anxious.

"Whose child is he then?" Petunia glanced at the photograph gripped tightly in Harry's hand and grabbed at it. It nearly tore in half, but Harry loosened his grip on the only link he had to reality, reluctantly releasing it to his aunt's less than tender perusal of the artifact. Looking at the picture of the happily smiling couple had calmed him in a way which his aunt would never be able to achieve, not that she had ever attempted to calm or comfort him in any way or ever would for that matter.

Holding the picture had helped anchor him while Dumbledore told the story of how he had been born. _He wasn't Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived; he was the son of the American couple in the photograph. Wouldn't Voldemort be in for a big surprise? Not only was Harry not the son of Lily and James Potter, but he was the son of a Muggle couple. The baby who had defeated him so many years ago was a mere Muggle-born._

"I can see a resemblance between Harry and the man," Petunia spoke clinically, waving the photo, "and his eyes, which reminded everyone, but me, of Lily's, are much more like this woman's," she stabbed at the picture with a well manicured nail. Harry seethed on the inside, knowing that it would do little good to ask his 'aunt' to return the photo. Instead, he turned some of his anger on the Headmaster.

"How long have you known?" Harry's hands were fisted at his side, unshed tears of anger glinted in the too bright light of the Dursley's kitchen.

"I found out a year ago," Dumbledore answered truthfully, letting his hand fall to his side warily. He had debated about what to tell Harry and when, if ever, and had spent many sleepless nights verifying details and mulling over the facts.

It hadn't seemed important to tell him right away, not when he had just discovered that Sirius was his godfather. He also wanted to research the blood wards further. Lily's love for Harry is what had protected him from Voldemort's killing curse, and though it was true that her blood did not run in his veins, it did run in Petunia's and it was his surrogate mother's blood which had protected him. Or rather, that is what he had thought.

Dumbledore wanted to test the hypothesis that residing with a relative of Lily Evans' would keep Harry safe because of her bloodline before even beginning to theorize whether or not the same or better protection could be offered him through the blood he shared with his true relatives. So, yes, Dumbledore had known that Harry was a Winchester and not a Potter for quite some time now, but had not wanted to rock the boat so to speak. His main concern was Harry's safety after all, not securing a biological family for him.

"So, you left me in the dark, all this time," Harry couldn't get the rest of the words out around the lump in his throat as the tears finally began to cascade down his cheeks. He was always being left in the dark and he hated it. _It was __**his**__ life; surely he should be let in on the pertinent parts of it, like who his real parents were._

"I'm sorry Harry," Dumbledore procured the photo from Petunia and Harry clutched at it while he explained the rest of the story to them. Harry listened, not looking up at the Headmaster, afraid that his anger would spill out of him before he could hear the whole story; if Dumbledore was telling them everything that is.

"I had to make sure that what Bathsida said was in fact true before I came to you about this," Dumbledore concluded. His own blue eyes sparkled as he watched Harry's thin shoulders shake while silent tears strolled down his face. He resisted the urge to place a hand on the boy's shoulder, fearing he would be rebuffed once again. He decided the best course of action would be to wait on Harry.

"How could you keep this from me?" Harry whispered as he stared unseeing at the tattered and torn photograph.

"How could Lily keep this from me?" Petunia's own voice came out as little more than a whisper. In spite of the brusque way in which she had compared Harry to the couple in the photo, she still had a hard time wrapping her mind around the concept that Harry, the boy she and Vernon had taken in, was not her nephew. It wasn't really that which bothered her though, it was the fact that Lily had not confided the truth in her, "It can't be true," she blurted.

"I'm afraid that it is true Petunia. I truly am sorry that you were kept in the dark about this, we all were," Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on Petunia's arm which she pulled back quickly as though burned. _Lily had been her sister and she had loved her, in her own way, but could not find it in her heart to love her son. Now she knew why, Harry Potter, as it turns out was not really her sister's son, but the son of some American couple. That certainly explained a lot about the boy._

"So, Harry's got other family that could take him in then?" Vernon Dursley interrupted abruptly. Apparently he had gotten tired of waiting for his wife to return to the living room and followed her to the kitchen. His face held a gleeful smile as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

_At first he had been indignant at the intrusion. How dare a magic-wielding freak step foot in his home. When he learned that it was the Headmaster of that Hogwhatsit School, his eyes had narrowed eagerly as he wondered what the boy had done to merit a visit from the Headmaster during the summer and just what the boy's punishment would be. Then, much to his surprise, he learned that Harry Potter, bane of his existence, was no relation to Petunia whatsoever. He was trilled, they would be rid of the boy once and for all. His world would once again be magic free. He, Petunia, and Dudley would finally be free of Harry Potter. _

"So, what happens to the boy?" Vernon clasped his hands together, anxious to get on with it. He could care less about Lily and James Potter and how it was that they came to have Harry. All he cared about was getting rid of this freakish burden that had been thrust upon them almost twelve years ago.

"Well, being as it is the beginning of the summer vacation and there has been some rather disturbing Death Eater activity in the area, not to mention Voldemort's return, as I'm sure young Harry has informed you. Given the fact that Lily's blood does not run in his veins and there is no true blood tie with Petunia, I have contacted Harry's biological father, unfortunately his biological mother is deceased," Dumbledore spoke solemnly. He glanced once again at Harry whose tears had subsided. He was staring up at Dumbledore, green eyes stormy with suppressed emotion. _He hadn't meant to reveal Mary's death to Harry in such an abrupt manner, but there was no going back now._

"Excuse me sir, but couldn't I just spend the rest of the summer with Sirius?" Harry asked, a lilt of hope tinting his voice. The thought of going to live with a father he had never met did not appeal to him.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but at this time it is not possible, you need the protective wards that can only be provided through a blood relative. In addition, there are other matters of import which would be compromised were you to stay with Sirius," Dumbledore spoke in a tone that Harry had heard rarely before, one which barred against argument. He would not be able to convince the Headmaster to let him stay with his godfather.

"I thought that the blood relatives had to be from my mum's side of the family," Harry said in a small voice.

"Your father's blood runs through your veins as well and offers you a similar protection, additionally, he has two other sons," he waited a beat for that revelation to sink in before continuing, "Yes, Lily died protecting you and the blood-bond through her family proved to be sufficient to protect you while Voldemort was not an immediate threat, but with his return, I am afraid that the protection offered through your father's blood is much stronger," Dumbledore explained, absentmindedly rubbing his tired eyes.

_He purposefully chose not to mention to Harry that his biological mother had sacrificed her life for her youngest son, thus creating another blood protection for Harry. He knew that, given Harry's penchant for self-blame, he would somehow attribute his mother's death to himself even though he was in no way responsible. _

"So, what is going to happen to me? Where will I be spending the rest of the summer?" Harry asked dejectedly.

"I had a trusted colleague locate your father and explain the situation to him. After some negotiation, your father has agreed to take you for the summer provided that a paternity test prove to him that you are indeed biologically related to him. You will, of course, attend Hogwarts in the fall," Dumbledore smiled. With a flick of his wand, he conjured up another chair as all four were taken up now that Vernon had joined them. Dudley remained hovering nervously in the doorway.

"I will not have magic in my home!" Vernon bellowed. His face had a mottled hue to it which served to amuse Dumbledore.

Dumbledore turned, pointing his wand at the red-faced man before him, "Vernon Dursley, you will not take that tone with me. I am expecting confirmation that the paternity test has been delivered successfully and that it is alright to move Harry tonight," Dumbledore seemed to grow before their very eyes as he towered threateningly over Vernon, pressing his wand against the man's nose. Vernon gulped and scooted closer to his wife. Dudley disappeared from the doorway.

Harry smiled at the sight of his uncle cowering. Usually he was the one cowering under his uncle's wrath. The smile fell from his face when his thoughts turned to what Dumbledore was suggesting. True, he did not enjoy staying at the Dursley's; they treated him like a servant, hit him on a whim, kept him locked up for days, sometimes weeks at a time, never bought him clothing or toys or books, and kept him underfed. But, they were the only family he knew and he wondered whether things would be the same or worse with his American _father and brothers_.

_Would his father hit him as Uncle Vernon did? How would he respond when Harry had a nightmare? Would he hate him as much as the Dursley's did? How did he feel about magic? Did he even know that Harry was a wizard? Would he accept him as one if he did know? Or would he treat him as a freak like the Dursley's did? And Dumbledore had mentioned brothers, what would it be like to have brothers? Would they treat him like Dudley did? Or would it be like the twins treated Ron? Neither thought was particularly appealing. He loved the twins and all, but they teased Ron quite a bit._

A whoosh sounded from the fireplace and soot filled the air as a wizard suddenly appeared in the Dursley's living room courtesy of the Floo Network. He hastily brushed himself off, a cross look on his ruddy features. The Dursley couple rushed from the kitchen, pulling Dudley along in their wake and all three looked on with eyes wide and mouths agape.

"Good afternoon Dumbledore," Arthur Weasley greeted around the unwholesome trio.

"Good afternoon Arthur," Dumbledore offered the wizard a hand out of the fireplace. Harry stood hesitantly in the background, clutching the photograph in his hand.

"Good afternoon Petunia, Dudley, Vernon," Arthur greeted each family member in turn, bowing his head slightly and smiling. They glared in response. "Harry," Arthur smiled and shook Harry's hand.

"Good afternoon Mr. Weasley," Harry smiled nervously at Ron's dad, wondering what news he had come to bring. _Would he really be leaving the Dursley's for good tonight?_

"Well Arthur, I don't believe you should leave us in suspense," Dumbledore glanced around the room. Noting Vernon's openly hostile glare, Petunia's white-faced shock, and Dudley's trembling form, he gestured for Arthur to speak.

"John Winchester is one of the most difficult men I have ever met, not to mention stubborn," Mr. Weasley colored as he spoke, "but I finally located him and his two sons at a gas station, fascinating place," the wizard's eyes lit up in memory, "in South Dakota," he hurriedly finished when Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"I had to prove to the man that I wasn't some shapeshifter thingy, wonder what that is?" He rambled, "It wasn't easy, but I managed to convince him that I was a court-appointed social worker who managed to track him down through his friend Bobby. I told him that we were most anxious to move Harry into his care from that of the Dursleys due to a precarious situation. Thankfully he believed me and the man, Bobby, confirmed that I had spoken to him via the fellytone, and that he had given me his approximate location. His boys were asleep at the time and he insisted upon speaking to me in the gas station itself, fascinating place Albus, you should have seen it."

"And is he willing to take young Harry in?" Dumbledore asked.

"Um, well," Arthur got even redder, "he agreed to meet Harry, in spite of having the biological link confirmed through the patonity…er panterity…uh posterity…"

"Paternity!" Vernon shouted in exasperation, being less than patient with anyone who did not understand the simplest of words, "It's called a paternity test. And it's a telephone, not a fellytone."

"Um, well thank you Mr. Dursley," Arthur smiled half-heartedly. "Anyway, as I was saying, he would like to check things out for himself and make a decision after determining whether or not Harry will fit in with his other sons and also expressed a disinclination to take him in, claiming that being a sperm donor does not make him a father."

Harry found himself looking down at his feet too upset to trust himself to look at the Headmaster. _His heart sank at the thought of having to face a new father that didn't even want him. It was just his luck. _

_Of course his newfound father wouldn't want him, a weak crybaby, who spent his nights sobbing after being awakened from nightmares. _

_Dudley couldn't stand him, surely any brothers he had would dislike him as well. He would be stuck at the Dursley's for sure this summer. _

_Thankfully he had thought to pack a few food items from the kitchens at Hogwarts and had been able to stash them beneath the floorboards in his room. He had made the cache last for the first few weeks of summer; surely he could make his rations last a little longer. The Weasleys would be sure to have him over toward the end of the summer. _

_He would at least have that to look forward to; especially since he knew that his uncle and aunt would not be too happy with him when Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley left. He could almost hear the door being slammed and the locks on his room being clicked into place, after of course Uncle Vernon took a belt to him._

_His relatives were already angry with him for waking them with his nightmares nearly every night for the past couple of weeks. He had tried to stop them or at least not cry out during them, but was unsuccessful in his attempts. If anything, his nightmares grew worse and had taken on a surrealistic quality which frightened him more than anything else. They had even started to plague him during the day, especially when he was doing a particularly mundane chore._

_The night before, his uncle had woken him by pulling him from his bed and shaking him until his teeth rattled, leaving ugly purple bruises on his arms. He then, making good on his threat from the previous night, proceeded to strike him with a belt when Harry was unable to give him a satisfactory explanation as to why he was having nightmares. His uncle reiterated with every strike that because Harry had caused him and his family pain from lack of sleep, which could potentially cost him his job, Harry too would be made to feel pain. He had commented that maybe the application of the belt would help him keep his nightmares under control. If not, it would serve to give him, "something to cry about."_

_The belt had been used infrequently in the past, maybe on only a dozen occasions; Uncle Vernon preferred to cuff him on the ear or on the back of the head when Harry had stepped out of line. The threat of the use of a belt on his backside was more often than not an empty one used to 'keep' him 'in line'. Only when Uncle Vernon truly lost his temper, as had happened last night, did he make good on the threat. He hadn't struck Harry more than half a dozen times last night, but the belt had left angry red welt marks on his lower back. It was still tender and smarted painfully. _

_Yes, when Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley left, he would be locked in his room for the next foreseeable future, perhaps let out for chores, but even that was doubtful. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be fed once a week. His stomach growled at the thought of the near starvation he would have to suffer through. He'd lived with it for years and had survived; this year would be no different. _

Harry had become so lost in his own thoughts that he missed out on the rest of Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley's conversation and heard just the tail end of it, "So, do you think he'd be willing to take Harry in for the required amount of time?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Yes," Arthur looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him before, "but only on a trial basis and that is only if his 'leads check out'."

"Hmmm…" Dumbledore looked over at Harry, "what do you think Harry?"

"What do you mean by asking him?" Vernon jumped in, standing between Dumbledore and Harry, his face dangerously red, "He will be going to stay with his _father_, there is no question about it. Let him take care of the insufferable, ungrateful little brat. Petunia and I have put our time in; we've had enough of this magic rubbish. I won't stand for the boy to stay here even one more night, eating our food, costing us money. He has hurt and frightened our son Dudley on numerous occasions and has even harmed my sister; let him be someone else's nightmare for a change. We wash our hands of him, don't we Petunia dear?" Petunia nodded her agreement vigorously. Dudley nodded as well.

"Mr. Dursley, you will refrain from using such vile language in my presence," Dumbledore's voice rebounded in the small room.

"This is my home and I will talk as I see fit in it. Harry has been nothing but a burden to us," Uncle Vernon punctuated each word with a stab of his sausage-like finger, "He has been ungrateful for the roof we put over his head and all that we have provided for him," a snort of disbelief escaped Harry, who carefully cast his gaze to the floor in an attempt to escape Dumbledore's scrutiny and Vernon's dangerous glare. _He would be whipped tonight, no doubt about it._

"See what I mean," Vernon gestured at Harry who was now making a poor attempt at disappearing between the living room wall and the base of the staircase. _Maybe when Dumbledore left, if Uncle Vernon didn't lock him up in his room right away, he would be able to find a way to escape, go out on his own in spite of the danger the Death Eaters and Voldemort presented._

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke quietly, lifting Harry's chin so he could look him directly in the eye.

"Y..Yes S…sir…?" Harry stammered in response.

"Would you like to visit your father for a few weeks?"

Harry blinked his eyes in confusion; _just how much of the conversation had he missed? In the last part of the conversation that he had heard, his father didn't believe that Harry was his son and hadn't wanted him. He had only been willing to take him for a short time and Harry didn't want to leave the Dursely's for a short time only to be returned to them. It would somehow make it worse, especially if his father was even half-way decent._

"How long would I be staying?" Harry whispered.

"Until the final weeks of summer, if all goes well," Dumbledore smiled, waiting patiently. Vernon paced the length of living room mumbling darkly under his breath and shooting angry glares in Dumbledore and Harry's direction.

"And would I," Harry wasn't sure how to ask what was really eating at him, "would I…"

"Oh just spit it out boy!" Vernon threw his hands up in the air.

"Would I have to return here?" Harry's eyes darted to the hulking form of his uncle before quickly looking away.

"No, I think we will be able to make other suitable arrangements should things not work out with your father," Dumbledore sighed. He had known that Harry's life at the Dursley's was unpleasant, but perhaps he had underestimated just what Harry went through each summer he returned to their dubious care.

"Well then, sure," Harry whispered, knowing that if he didn't make that choice, life with the Dursley's would be even worse than he could imagine. He shuddered briefly thinking about it, "When should I be ready to leave?"

"Gather your things now. We will go immediately," Dumbledore stood back to give Harry room to leave and get his belongings.

Vernon walked briskly from the room and began to unlock the door to the cupboard below the stairs where Harry used to reside; he pulled a large trunk out of it. Harry raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and quickly gathered his things together. He had very little he was able to call his own, but what he did have, he treasured.

He looked at the photo album Hagrid had given him, and even though he knew that the pictures it held were of a life based on a lie, he plucked it gingerly from his hideaway and placed the battered motionless photo of his real father and mother next to an animated one of the only mother and father he had ever known. He left the food he had stashed beneath the floorboards, _just in case_, and walked down the stairs where Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley waited.

Mr. Weasley took Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage (she was off hunting mice) and after a hasty good-natured goodbye to the Dursleys, which was not returned, he disappeared into the fireplace. Harry prepared to enter the fireplace when a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Don't you have anything to say to your nephew?" Dumbledore rounded on the family. His normally kind, twinkling eyes were ablaze with mercurial fury.

"It's okay Headmaster," Harry turned away from the miserable scene determined not to cry, _why he felt like crying was completely beyond him, it wasn't like they had actually cared for him. They had never shown him an iota of love in the twelve years he had lived with them. They wouldn't miss him and he wouldn't miss them._

"No it isn't," Dumbledore insisted, "Petunia, he is the son of your only sister Lily, even if not by blood, it was by choice, don't you have anything to say to him?"

"Bye Harry," Dudley braved in a squeaky voice, covering his overly large behind with both of his hands as he regarded the white-haired wizard who held Harry back.

"Good riddance," Vernon spat out and turned his back. As he walked into the kitchen, he waved a hand in the air.

"Harry," the tone of her voice, lacking the usual venom, is what caused Harry to look at his aunt, "you take care of yourself." She turned on her heel before Harry could reply and followed her husband into the kitchen. Dudley joined his parents at a much slower pace as he walked backwards, keeping his hands securely over his broad backside and his eyes warily on the wizards before him.

Harry gathered the Floo powder in his hand and stepped into the green flames of the fire, eager to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the Dursley home. He was spirited away to the Leaky Cauldron where he was to spend the night before leaving for America. Hoping that he would never have to return to Number 4 Privet Drive, he allowed a small smile to grace his features. _Maybe he would finally be loved and cared for or maybe just tolerated. Maybe his luck was about to improve._


	8. Departure

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

Opinions, misconceptions, and prejudices of characters within this story do not necessarily reflect the beliefs of the author.

* * *

Departure

When the dizziness from his trip through the Floo Network subsided, Harry took a wary look around, recognizing the dimly lit interior of the Leaky Cauldron at once. He stepped from the fireplace and was immediately ushered into a dark, musty room by Tom, the innkeeper, who rambled on about getting Harry some food, to which Harry nodded numbly. He wasn't particularly hungry and was still in a bit of shock if he were to be completely honest with himself. At the moment, he was merely going through the motions.

He started when the door to his room was shut with a loud bang and, before he knew it, he was gathered into a rough embrace that left him breathless and terrified as thoughts of betrayal into the hands of Voldemort or one of his fanatic Death Eaters assailed him. Flinching, he barely managed to keep from crying out in fear and pain.

When the arms that had enfolded him pulled back, Harry glanced up into the grinning face of Sirius Black. Suppressing a wince as his godfather's hands unwittingly squeezed the bruises his uncle had left on him; he returned the smile half-heartedly and hugged his godfather in return, not wanting to let him go.

"Ah Harry it's good to see you," Sirius pulled back from the embrace to look Harry over with a critical eye, "How were those Muggles treating you?"

"Fine," Harry dropped his eyes from his godfather's gaze. He didn't want the man to read the truth in them.

Sirius pulled Harry's chin up so he could look into his godson's eyes, "I'm sorry Harry. You know if I had my way you'd be living with me." His smile slipped into a brief frown.

"It's okay," Harry shrugged uncomfortably, giving his godfather a half smile, "what are you doing here?" He was grateful to see his godfather, but couldn't help wonder what he was doing at the Leaky Cauldron when he should be in hiding. He didn't know what he would do if he lost Sirius in addition to all that had happened over the past couple of weeks with Voldemort's return and Cedric's death and his finding out that he was not at all who he thought he was. His world had been turned completely upside down in a matter of a few hours.

If Sirius were caught, it would mean the Dementor's kiss for him, leaving him little more than a shell of a man. Harry shivered; he had almost suffered that very fate a little over a year ago when he had first met Sirius Black. At first Harry thought he was the madman who had betrayed his family to Voldemort. Then, the truth came out, that it was Peter Pettigrew who had betrayed the Potters into the hands of Lord Voldemort. He had framed Sirius and lived as a rat in the Weasley family for over a decade before the truth came out one dark night in the Shrieking Shack when the rat was confronted by the escaped convict, Sirius Black, and Hogwart's latest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin.

It was that very night, before the full moon came out and ruined everything, when Sirius had asked Harry if he would like to live with him. He was his godfather and had legal rights to take him in if Harry so desired. Harry had been overjoyed and agreed readily to leave the Dursleys, but once again fate stepped in and stripped him of what little happiness he had at his fingertips.

He didn't think he would be able to stand it if anything happened to the man who now stood before him with a lopsided grin on his face. His hair, no longer unkempt, hung in a dark curtain down to his shoulders. He no longer appeared to be emaciated and Harry was happy to see the man who had been his father's best friend looking well fed and somewhat decent, not to mention a little more sane.

"Dumbledore told me about your long lost _father_ and I asked if I could be present to help see you off on your journey to America," Sirius ground out, "I still don't believe it. You look the spitting image of James." He touched Harry's shoulder, noting how thin his godson seemed.

"You didn't sneak out did you?" Harry asked, concerned and wondering, not just a little, if Sirius would stop liking him now that it had been revealed that James was not his biological father. He was James' best friend after all and Harry apparently was not even related to him.

"No, Harry I didn't, but you know that you don't have to do this," Sirius sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Harry to join him, "we could figure something else out. This man might not be your father after all. The information that Dumbledore came across may have been falsified. It could be part of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's plot to capture you."

"Sirius, there isn't anything else for me to do. The Dursleys…they…don't want me, Voldemort and his Death Eater pals are searching the entire nation for me, and I can't come and stay with you because of the protection of the blood wards," Harry said with a sigh as he sat down next to his godfather, "How long can you stay?"

"I will be staying the night and will accompany you to your departure point tomorrow, though I will have to transform to do so," Sirius smiled broadly thinking of his shaggy animagus form, Padfoot.

"You don't have to do that," Harry's voice held a trace of anxiety, "I don't want you to get caught." An image from one of his most recent nightmares played in the back of his mind. Sirius, Padfoot, was captured by the Death Eaters and tortured until he went mad. Harry, standing on the sidelines, had been unable to do anything, but watch.

"Nonsense," Sirius patted Harry on the back, "it'll be good to stretch my legs. Besides, there'll be quite an entourage of aurors accompanying you on your trek to the departure point and a smaller contingency joining you on your journey to America."

"It'll be good to have you see me off," Harry was relieved that Sirius would at least have the protection of the aurors to keep him safe. His gaze traveled to the floor, "Sirius, you know that even if this man is my father, I, I mean, that is, if you…what I mean to say is…" he trailed off trying to get the words out right, "would you, I mean…could you…would you still…like me if I'm not, you know, James' and Lily's son? Would you still be my godfather?" Harry had turned bright red and his vision had become fixed on a groove in one of the floorboards. It kind of reminded him of a twisty pretzel when he tilted his head to the side.

Cupping Harry's chin roughly in a calloused hand, Sirius raised Harry's head and waited until his green eyes met his own dark ones, "Harry, James was my best mate. I'm just finding it hard to believe that he's not your father. You look exactly like him when he was your age. I can't believe that neither he nor Lily confided in me that they went to a fertility clinic to conceive you."

Tears gathered in Harry's eyes and he tried to look away, but Sirius gently held his face in both his hands, "I need you to understand that this isn't easy for me. It isn't. I feel betrayed, not by you, but by James and Lily. Why wouldn't he tell his best mate something as important as this? Imagine how you'd feel if Ron held such a secret from you," Sirius paused when he saw a flicker of understanding in his godson's eyes. _So much like Lily's eyes_,_ except they weren't._

"Harry, as much as I feel betrayed by James, I loved him like a brother and Lily like a sister and you are their son in every sense that matters. Harry, if it turns out that James really is not your father and this American is," Sirius waited a heartbeat while he gathered his thoughts, "I will not love you any less. And, like it or not, I am, and always will be, your godfather."

Touching his forehead to Harry's for a moment, he hugged his godson briefly before releasing him, needing the boy to know that what he said was true, even though he was still angry with Lily for her deception. She had not only kept her friends in the dark, but she had kept James in the dark as well and had all but ruined young Harry's life, not to mention cost him a number of years in Azkaban. For surely He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would never have gone after the son of the Potters had he been aware of the circumstances surrounding his birth.

A knock on the door startled Harry and caused him to jump to his feet. He grasped his wand and bore it cautiously before him. Sirius placed a comforting hand on his young charge before rising to answer the mysterious knock.

"Brought dinner," Tom handed a platter with steaming plates on it to Sirius and grinned toothlessly as he stepped back allowing someone else to enter the small, well-kept room.

"Sirius, Harry," Dumbledore greeted, "I see that you both made it here alright."

Sirius set the platter on the small table in the center of the room and beckoned Harry to join him. It was more food than Harry had been offered in the past two weeks, but he had no appetite for it. The events of this evening had only served to turn his stomach and he didn't think he'd be able to keep anything down if he tried eating. He turned to the Headmaster who pulled up a chair next to them and gestured for Harry to eat.

"Harry," Dumbledore began when Harry reluctantly shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth, "I am sure that you are wondering when you will be leaving for America and how," Dumbledore continued at Harry's nod, "I have arranged for a flight for you and two aurors to accompany you on your flight to America," Dumbledore paused, allowing Harry to process what he had said and swallow his mouthful of potatoes.

"Um," Harry finally managed to gulp the potatoes down his suddenly dry throat and took a quick sip of his milk, grimacing slightly when it sloshed onto the hardwood table. He quickly dabbed at the spill with the sleeve of his overlarge sweatshirt, a classic Dudley castoff. With a flick of Sirius' wand and a barely uttered spell, the spilt milk was cleared up in a moment's flash.

"Thank you," Harry managed around the lump in his throat and he looked up at the Headmaster, "um, why am I traveling on an airplane? Isn't there some form of magical transportation that would be quicker?" He had never traveled by air before, but had seen, when he had been able to sneak a quick peek at the television, airplanes on TV. They looked big and he wondered how on earth they managed to stay in the air without the use of magic. Though he had grown up in a Muggle family, one in which the word, 'magic,' was taboo, he knew very little about how mechanical things worked as no one had ever bothered to explain them to him.

"Under normal circumstances we would attempt to set up something through the Floo Network, but given the current circumstances we find ourselves in, with the return of Lord Voldemort and the Ministry's refusal to acknowledge his return, I believe that Muggle transportation will be the safest route for you to take," Dumbledore explained while Harry placed a spoonful of peas into his mouth.

Harry raised his eyes to Dumbledore's, putting his spoon down. "Okay," he said around a mouthful of peas. Fearful he would choke on them and cause a scene, he quickly washed them down with another swallow of milk. Anxious not to spill it once again, he placed the glass carefully on the table.

"There are a few things which I must ask of you when you go to stay with your father," Dumbledore paused, "I know that this may seem like a strange request, but Harry, under no circumstances are you to reveal to your newfound family that you are a wizard," Sirius looked up at the Headmaster sharply, but the protest died on his lips when Dumbledore raised a hand for silence.

"I cannot explain why I ask this of you," Dumbledore went on, seeing the question in Harry's eyes, "but you must promise me that you will not tell them you are a wizard and, as always, you must refrain from using magic, no matter what might happen. I have no doubt that you will be safe with your father, even safer than what the blood wards themselves could possibly provide."

Dumbledore's eyes lost focus for a second, as though he were deep in thought about something, but then he turned a piercing gaze upon Harry, "Promise me that you will keep your magical heritage a secret and that you will not run away no matter what happens."

"Alright sir," Harry answered softly. Though curiosity ate at him, he did not ask any of the millions of questions that whirled around in his head. _Why hadn't his biological family already been told he was a wizard? Didn't they deserve to know? Why did Dumbledore want him to promise not to use magic or to tell his family that he was a wizard? Would living with his father and brothers be like living with the Durselys where the mere mention of the word, 'magic,' would bring swift, exacting punishment? Would he always be destined to hide his true nature from his non-magical family? Maybe he should have opted to stay with the Dursleys after all._

"Promise me Harry," Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's and forced the young man to look him squarely in the eyes, "promise me that you will not use any magic and that you will not mention that you are a wizard to the Winchesters, and that, no matter what happens, you will not run away."

Sirius stood and paced in the small confines of the room. He turned a dark glare in Dumbledore's direction, but the elderly wizard ignored him as he waited for Harry to reply.

Something sinister seemed to niggle at the back of Harry's mind as he made direct eye contact with the Headmaster, but he quickly quashed it. _That was odd, for a second there he felt unbridled hatred for the old wizard and, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why._

"I promise that I won't tell my f..family," he choked a bit on the word, "that I am a wizard. I won't run away. And I won't use magic," he said emphatically.

"Good, good," Dumbledore patted Harry's hand and smiled, "now eat, unfortunately plans have changed and you will be catching a flight out of London tonight."

"But Dumbledore, you promised that Harry and I would be able to spend some time together," Sirius protested. There were a great deal of things he wanted to tell his godson about James and Lily and about his plans for adopting him once his name was cleared, regardless of who Harry's biological parents were. "And what's this about Harry not being able to tell his family about being a wizard?"

"I'm sorry Sirius, but it seems that Voldemort and his followers have found out that Harry is no longer under the care of the Dursleys. It is only a matter of time before they trace young Harry to the Leaky Cauldron. The sooner we leave here, the safer he will be. It is important that no one find out about where Harry is going, the quicker we get him to his destination, the harder it will be for anyone to figure out where he has been taken. As to why he must keep his magical roots a secret…" Dumbledore gave Sirius a meaningful look.

"What about my things?" Harry asked around a second mouthful of peas.

"I have already packed your trunk and have sent your school things on to Hogwarts," Dumbledore gave Harry a thoughtful look; "You needn't worry about your school work over the summer." He knew that he would have to answer to a certain Potions Master in regard to that last directive, but being the Headmaster gave him quite a bit of leeway.

And though he knew that the boy would be unable to use it once he began to take the potion Severus had prepared for him, he brought out Harry's wand. If nothing else, it would at least bring some measure of comfort to him and a sense of safety.

"Though I do not wish you to use magic, I believe that it would be negligent and dangerous for you to be without your wand," Dumbledore gave Harry a thoughtful look, almost regretting his deception, "as you must keep it hidden at all times, I will place a concealment charm on it and give you a special case for it."

He muttered a few words over Harry's wand and placed it in what looked like a wooden case before handing it to Harry. "Muggles will be unable to see it," he offered by way of explanation.

The door slammed open, startling the three occupants who drew their wands upon the intruder, "Harry, Dumbledore, Sirius," the intruder growled, "it is time to leave." He grasped Harry's wrist and roughly pulled him from the room. Dumbledore followed with billowing robes and Sirius, anger written on his face, transformed into Padfoot and followed, barking, on Dumbledore's heels.

"What is it Moody?" Dumbledore asked as they made their way through Diagon Alley and out onto the streets of Muggle London.

"No time to waste," he growled in response as a number of cloaked witches and wizards gathered tightly around them, "apparate and then we'll talk." Turning with Harry, he disappeared with a pop, followed by Dumbledore who held onto Padfoot as he apparated. Several of the witches and wizards who had surrounded them apparated as well, leaving several others behind.

"Where'd they go?" Lucius Malfoy questioned Severus Snape angrily.

"I have no idea, the Headmaster doesn't tell me everything," he lied smoothly, sneering at the angry blonde, "especially plans that concern the precious Harry Potter and his well-being," he sneered.

"Any trace of them?" Lucius turned his angular face toward another Death Eater who shook his head.

"We almost had them," another Death Eater made a fist, "the Dark Lord will not be happy."

"We'd best not keep him waiting," Lucius and the others turned and apparted with a loud pop.

"Constant vigilance," Moody muttered under his breath as he paced back and forth in the lobby of the airport, Harry in tow. He suddenly turned to face Harry, putting his face directly in the boy's, "Constant vigilance Harry. Constant vigilance, my boy."

Harry nodded emphatically, gulping down the fear that threatened to bubble over. He hadn't forgotten when Barty Crouch Jr. had pretended to be Mad Eye Moody and wondered if the wizard whose fingers bit into his arm was another imposter. He didn't want to find himself face-to-face with Voldemort again so soon after his return, after what he had done to Cedric. After what he had done to him. He sighed in relief when Dumbledore appeared with Padfoot, followed by Remus, Arthur, and several others he could not name.

"Someone found out where Harry was," Moody offered by way of explanation when Dumbledore questioned him.

"That was close," a witch, whose hair was a spiked bubblegum pink, winked at Harry. "Tonks at your service," she offered her hand and Harry clumsily shook it, "I'll be joining you and Remus on your trip to America."

"Yes, I believe it is time to get Harry in the care of his relatives," a tall black wizard who looked to be in charge, headed toward the ticket counter, taking care of Harry's luggage and ticket for him.

"Now remember: no magic, keep your wand hidden and under no circumstances are you to leave the care of your family," Dumbledore warned, "and Harry," his voice softened as Harry's green eyes met his.

"Yes sir?" Harry answered in a whisper.

"Give it some time, things may turn out better than you expect," Dumbledore escorted Harry, Remus, and Tonks to the security gate, "be safe Harry," he waved as Harry walked through the gate followed by Tonks.

Dumbledore held Remus back with a restraining hand, "Please see that Mr. Winchester gets this package," he pressed it into Remus' hand.

"What is it?" Remus wondered why the Headmaster had held him back and not the others.

"Just something for Harry," Dumbledore answered noncommittally, patting the werewolf on the back. He hated to deceive the kind-hearted wizard, but did not have time for explanations.

"Alright, will do," Remus smiled and hurried after Harry and Tonks.

Oblivious to the shouts and attempts to stop him, Padfoot ran after Harry and bowled him over with a great big hug as he planted a paw on either shoulder. Harry returned the embrace, "Padfoot promise me that you won't do anything to endanger yourself." The dog licked Harry's face.

Padfoot reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled away from Harry by Dumbledore who sternly admonished him for his outrageous display. He watched Harry leave with Remus and Tonks on either side with sad puppy dog eyes. Harry turned and waved, tears glistening in his eyes. _What if his biological father didn't want him and sent him away? Had Dumbledore asked him to keep his magical heritage a secret because his father wouldn't accept him otherwise? Would things be just as bad with his new family as they were with the Dursleys? Would he be able to survive the summer if they were? He hoped to god that they weren't._

* * *

Dean blinked in the eerie glow of the light on the dashboard of the Impala as he awoke. It was dark out; they had been traveling all day and all night. The only stopping they had done was to refuel the car, grab a quick bite to eat, and take a piss, often times they did all three at the same pit stop.

"Hey Dad, you just passed up a hotel," Dean pointed out around a yawn as he watched yet another hotel pass by. "Maybe we should stop somewhere for the night. You've been driving like a bat out of hell."

"Sorry Dean," John glanced over at his son, "I know it's been a long car ride, we'll stop once we reach Bobby's, then you and Sammy can get a decent night's sleep." They were only about an hour away from the veteran hunter's home and John couldn't wait to get there. _His shoulder ached, he was tired as hell, and both boys were sporting bruises from their encounter with the poltergeist. Though he really should have rested, he knew that the kid would be arriving in just a few short hours and had to be there when he did._

"I'm okay in the car," Dean protested, "it's just, well, you haven't rested since before that poltergeist and that was a couple of days ago."

"I'm fine Dean," John tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Sighing, Dean turned to face his dad, "I know, but I don't understand why you're in such a hurry to get to Uncle Bobby's. Did something happen to him?" A cold, icy fear stole through him as Dean imagined scenarios in which the gruff hunter he thought of as part of his family was grievously injured.

"No, no," John quickly assuaged his son's worry, "it's nothing like that. I," he paused trying to gather the right words to say, "we just need to get to Bobby's, I'll explain everything once everyone is rested," he finished lamely.

"Alright Dad," Dean leaned his head against the window, knowing that his dad would not offer him anymore information no matter how much he pried. _Damn he's stubborn and he's hiding something, I'll get to the bottom of it sooner or later though, _Dean thought to himself as he cast a sideways glance at his father wondering what had the seemingly unshakable man on edge.

_In all his years, he had never seen his father appear so discombobulated. Something was wrong and Dean worried about what it would mean for his family. Nothing else mattered to him. His family was his world and he would do everything in his power to keep them safe and together, no matter what. He was not going to let anyone or anything destroy his family. He'd kill before that happened. _

The rhythmic sound of the tires against the pavement had long been his and Sammy's lullaby, and he soon succumbed to its lulling influence and drifted back into a fitful, yet dreamless sleep.


	9. Between Two Worlds

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

Opinions, misconceptions, and prejudices of characters within this story do not necessarily reflect the beliefs of the author.

Some mild swearing

* * *

Between Two Worlds

"Dean?" Sammy whispered hoarsely in the moonlit room. He wasn't sure if Dean was up or not, he had been pretty exhausted when they had arrived at Bobby's an hour ago and both of them had barely managed to climb the stairs after Bobby had seen to their wounds. "Dean?" He tried once more, this time a little louder.

"What, Sammy? Trying to sleep here," Dean rolled over on his bed. Readjusting his pillow, he gave it a firm punch and faced away from Sammy and the moonlight which permeated the room, bathing it in an otherworldly glow.

"Dean?" Sammy's voice took on a pleading tone.

Dean sat up halfway in his bed and turned to look back over his shoulder at the eerie silhouette of his brother, "What is it Sammy?" He asked warily. His body ached and he was bone tired.

"I'm thirsty," Sammy responded in a small voice, "could you go get me a glass of water?" The pleading in his younger brother's voice tugged at Dean's heart.

"Go get it yourself," Dean was not going to let his brother's puppy dog pleading get the best of him this time. He turned over and stared at the ceiling, "Better yet, go drink from the bathroom faucet."

"Dean?" Sammy was biting his lower lip, "That water's gross, and I'm afraid that Dad or Uncle Bobby be mad at me. They asked if I wanted a glass of water and I said no."

"You are such a wimp!" Dean sighed in exasperation, but sat up in bed and swiveled his legs over the edge, "I'm sure that Dad and Uncle Bobby won't be angry, but I'll go get you your glass of water. Anything else you'd like 'Princess'? Maybe some cookies and milk or a pretty purple pony while I'm at it?"

"Thank you Dean," Sammy laid back down in his bed, a smile on his face. He knew that, contrary to what Dean had said, Dad would not be happy if he saw him back down in the kitchen not fifteen minutes after he had sent him off to bed. If only he hadn't refused the glass of water in the first place. His throat felt dry and scratchy and as though it was on fire.

"Sure thing, but you owe me big time," he shook the foot of Sammy's bed as he passed by and smiled when his younger brother giggled.

Dean carefully walked down the darkened hallway, not wanting to turn on the light and cause his eyes to be shocked by the sudden illumination. He approached the top of the staircase and listened for any sign of his father and Uncle Bobby who should already be in bed unless Uncle Bobby was still dressing his father's wound.

Light spilling from the doorway of the kitchen indicated that both hunters were still awake. _Oh goody,_ Dean thought, _just what I wanted to do, make conversation. _Though he had assured Sammy that their Dad and Uncle Bobby would not be angry, he knew that they would not be thrilled with his sudden appearance downstairs and his Dad would be irritated with Sammy. Sighing, Dean cautiously made his way down the stairs and into the living room.

It hadn't been his intention to spy on the two hunters, but when he was almost to the kitchen, Bobby's words reached him. He stood rooted to the spot in the shadows just outside of where the kitchen light reached its fluorescent tendrils into the entryway. Shocked, he barely breathed as he strained his ears to hear the conversation between Bobby and his father.

"John, I got a call just before you and the boys arrived. Your _son_ got an earlier flight," Bobby eyed the hunter before him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction.

John had explained the situation to him a couple of days ago and asked if he and the boys could stay at his place for the summer. Though he was not exactly eager to have a house full of Winchesters, it would definitely put a crimp in his bachelor lifestyle, Bobby had reluctantly agreed because he loved Dean and Sammy as though they were his own sons and because he knew that the Winchesters would not be staying long. They never did, John would be picking up camp in little more than a couple of weeks, he was sure of that. The man lived to be on the road and having a new son was not about to change his nonstop hunt for the demon that had killed his wife. Besides, he was curious.

When John had explained the situation to him, Bobby had questioned him thoroughly. Though he knew that John had undoubtedly gone through the same questions himself, he wanted to satisfy his own curiosity and make sure that John knew what he was getting himself and his boys into. It all sounded a bit fishy to him.

His eye was on the clock as he dressed John's shoulder wound. No doubt the kid's flight had already or was just about to land.

"Shit, should probably be there already," John groaned. He didn't want to pick the kid up anyway. He already had enough on his plate with two teenage sons and didn't need to add another teen to the mix.

He wasn't even sure now why he'd agreed to meet his alleged _son_ in the first place. His memory was a bit foggy with exhaustion, but he could clearly remember the papers that the social workers had shown him as proof and he had checked them out on his own as well. They appeared to be authentic. Also, the proof of the paternity test had helped to solidify their claims, as farfetched as they seemed.

At first, it had hit him like a sucker punch to the gut; he had another son that had been raised on a whole different continent by another family. He and Mary had gone to the fertility clinic to have children of their own using the money that had been left to her from her parents after their premature death. They had not gone to the clinic to help out other couples incapable of having their own children. Not that he begrudged those who did that, but he didn't like the thought that there could be even more Winchesters out there without his knowledge. Hopefully this Harry kid was the only one.

He hadn't thought about it since, had never dreamed that one day someone would come knocking on his door, well Bobby's door, and tell him that he had a biological son who was orphaned. Bobby had agreed to let him call his place, 'home' for the summer. In all honesty, he should have refused to meet the kid at all, but curiosity, and the memory of his late wife, had somehow gotten the better of him and he had found himself reluctantly agreeing.

"Tell you what, you stay here and rest; I'll go pick up this kid, what's his name?" Bobby helped John to his feet.

Dean, panic gripping his heart, made a hasty retreat for the stairs as Bobby led his father into the living room. He watched as the elder hunter helped settle his father on the couch. _Dad has another son? When did that happen? Why hasn't he told me or Sammy? Is that why he was in such a hurry to get here?_

"Harry something or other," John sunk into the cushions of the couch, attempting to rise, but unable to do so.

"Got it, Harry," Bobby nodded, "what's this kid look like?" He watched as John attempted to rise once again, but failed miserably as a wave of fatigue overtook him.

Resigned, he reached into his back pocket and pulled his wallet out. Fishing a folded photograph from inside of it, he handed it to Bobby. "Here's a picture of him," he managed around a yawn.

Bobby looked at the boy pictured in the creased photograph. He had a messy shock of black hair which stuck up at odd angles, much like Sammy's did first thing in the morning and startling green eyes which reminded him of Dean's, though they were a deeper shade of green. His forehead bore a thin scarlet scar shaped like a lightning bolt. _He sure looked like a Winchester._

"Just give me a minute and I'll join you," John yawned, his eyes closing in direct contrast to his words.

Dean stood in the hallway at the top of the staircase, sheltered by the darkness. _Just how long had his father carried a photograph of his other son in his wallet_? Dean was aching to go down the stairs and confront his father about the secret he had kept from him and Sammy for who knows how long. But, he knew that his father would get angry in his current state and, as he wanted answers, he knew that he had to let his own anger at the man cool down first.

If he wanted answers, he would have to approach his father in a much calmer state of mind and with a proper set of questions. Questions like: _How long have you known about Harry? How come you keep a photograph of your bastard son in your wallet? Were you ever planning on telling us about him?_

"It's almost midnight, get some shuteye. Besides, the boys are upstairs, at least one of us ought to stay here," Bobby placed a pillow under John's head, "the shape you guys came home in after this hunt, I ain't lettin' you go nowhere."

_He thoroughly disapproved of John's method of parenting which left much of the actual care of Sammy to Dean and the care of the boys to themselves or other hunters like himself. The injured state they had arrived in, though far from abnormal, had made him angry. John should never have taken his boys, as capable as they were, on such a hunt. It was irresponsible and bordered on criminal, though Bobby would be the last one to say anything like that to John, he knew that he'd never see John or the boys again. So, instead, he nursed their wounds and offered them a place to stay whenever they needed it. _

_He didn't mind watching the boys every now and again, heck, he kinda enjoyed it, kinda felt like they were family, but he knew that the boys needed their father and he was, at best, a favored uncle in the eyes of the boys. _

"Fine, not sure they will let him leave with you," John's eyes were drooping, "seemed particular that he be in my care. 'The care of family'," John's words trailed off as he fell into a light sleep.

Bobby picked the keys to his truck off the counter, hoping that the kid was still there when he arrived as he lived a half an hour away from the airport. He hoped that John, Dean, and Sammy would rest and recover from their latest encounter with a poltergeist. Shaking his head, Bobby rubbed Rumsfeld's, his Rottweiler's, head on the way out the door, "Keep an eye on 'em boy."

Dean tiptoed down the stairs, careful to avoid the steps which creaked, and hastily got Sammy his glass of water. He stopped in the living room, heart hammering in his chest, when his father turned over on the couch and groaned as he shifted onto his shoulder. He waited for an anxiety-filled minute, listening to his father's even breathing and exhaled in relief when his father remained fast asleep.

He rushed up the stairs, splashing some of the water from the glass as he went. Breathless, he reached the room that Sammy and he shared.

"Sammy," he whispered, "got your water."

When his brother didn't answer, he walked over to the bed and shook his head in disbelief. Sammy was sound asleep, covers twisted around the lower half of his body. Taking a sip of the cool water, he placed the coveted glass on the nightstand which stood between their beds; he inhaled sharply and readjusted the blankets around his younger brother so that he was thoroughly covered. He tucked the covers around him and brushed the hair off his forehead before slipping into his own bed.

Sleep eluded him as he pondered what he had accidentally overheard downstairs. _How could his father have kept something like this from him? Didn't he know that it would affect all of their lives, not just his own? Was this kid going to be living with them now? How old was he? Was he going to have to treat him as a brother? What if they didn't get along with each other? _

_The kid hadn't grown up as they had, how would he even fit in with their family? He had probably grown up in a normal home, but then why was Dad taking him in now? Maybe something had happened to his family. Whatever the reason for him being dumped on them, Dean was not going to go out of his way to make him feel welcome. He already had one kid brother he had to look after, he didn't need another. Maybe he had misheard the whole thing and in the morning, when he and Sammy went down for breakfast, it would only be the four of them, the way it was supposed to be._

* * *

"Well, it's been an hour Remus, whatchya think we ought to do? Should we try making another phone call?" Tonks looked at the clock on wall of the small airport. It had been a long flight with several connections and she was fighting off sleep, constantly on the alert as Harry sat slumped on one of the benches.

"We took an earlier flight than intended, maybe his father didn't get the message, we'll wait a little while longer," Remus motioned for Tonks to take a seat next to him.

"I don't like this one bit. Who's going to watch out for Harry here?" Tonks turned her now violet eyes woefully on Remus.

"Dumbledore knows what he is doing. Blood wards should offer him protection enough once he is placed with his father," Remus rubbed Tonks' arm reassuringly, "Dumbledore also believes that He-who-Must-not-be-Named and his followers will be unable to trace Harry overseas. Unless somebody betrays the Order, Harry will be safer here than anywhere else, even under the watchful eyes of Order members."

"Do you think he's coming?" Harry stifled a yawn, "Maybe he decided not to take me in after all." Though it had been on both of their minds neither Remus nor Tonks had wanted to mention it for fear of causing Harry undue worry.

"I say we give it a little more time," Remus offered cheerfully, though his hopes were dashed as he took in the dismal sight of the nearly empty airport. His eyes searched for any sign of the person who could possibly be Harry's father, keeping in mind the description that Arthur had given him and Tonks. Maybe Harry wasn't too far off the mark given how Arthur had described the man. The fact that he was a hunter as well had Remus seriously thinking of whisking Harry away from the airport and taking him into hiding. Albus need not be any the wiser, though he knew that the powerful wizard would catch on at some point in time, Harry would be safe until then.

He fingered the package that Albus had given to him prior to walking through the gate. Curious, he pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. It was wrapped simply enough in brown packaging paper, tied with twine. What could it possibly contain for Harry and why couldn't he give it directly to him? Surely nothing would be remiss with him taking a peek at the contents; Harry's safety was his chief concern after all.

Anything meant for Harry should be examined carefully; it could be something which could cause him harm. Albus had acted rather strangely at the airport, perhaps it hadn't been Albus who had seen them off but an imposter utilizing Polyjuice Potion. Moody, one of the greatest aurors of all time, had been duped and Albus, though powerful, was not infallible. Suddenly alarmed at what could possibly be contained within the unadorned package, he tightened his grip on it.

Standing abruptly, he walked a short distance away, waving off Tonks when she made to follow him. Carefully, he unwound the twine wrapped around the diminutive package and removed the paper while uttering a Latin incantation under his breath. A note filled with a flowery script floated to the floor and Remus bent to retrieve it.

_Mr. Winchester,_

The note read,

_I apologize for not informing you earlier, but your son, Harry, suffers from epilepsy. Please administer the medication contained within this parcel once weekly to prevent seizures. I hope that this does not pose an inconvenience for you._

_Sincerely,_

_Head of Social Services,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

The package was filled with ten vials. Each vial held a light green tinted potion which swirled murkily in the fluorescent light of the nearly empty airport. At first glance, it reminded Remus of a memory potion he had made in his Potions class at Hogwarts.

Holding a vial aloft, he watched as its liquid contents swirled, catching glimpses of a silvery substance snaking its way through the viscous liquid. A breath caught in his throat, he only knew of two substances which acted that way within a potion and which appeared that same silvery shade. Both were highly poisonous if not properly amalgamated: mercury and acromantula venom.

Convinced that whoever it was who had given him that package nearly twenty-four hours ago clearly had not been Albus Dumbledore, Remus pocketed the note. Returning the vial to the opened package, he quickly rewrapped it and walked hurriedly back to Harry.

"Harry," he prodded the groggy teen, "Harry!"

"Wha…?" Harry looked up at Remus through the fringe of his disheveled hair.

"Tell me, did Professor Dumbledore give you anything to drink before you left for the airport?" The urgency in the werewolf's voice was not lost on Harry and he looked at his former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor with confusion.

"Did Professor Dumbledore make you drink anything before you left for the airport?" Anxiety lacing his every word, Remus resisted the urge to shake the answer from the lethargic boy.

"N..no," Harry blinked in surprise, why would it matter if Dumbledore had given him something to drink? "Um, Tom gave me a glass of milk," he stated in bewilderment, "that was before Dumbledore arrived."

"And did you drink the milk?" Remus' line of questioning had Tonks baffled as well. What difference would it make if Harry had drunk milk nearly twenty-four hours ago? He had since then had much to drink and eat aboard the various airplanes they had boarded.

"Not all of it," a crease of confusion formed on Harry's brow, "I spilled some of it and Mad-Eye Moody interrupted before I could finish dinner."

"Good," Remus breathed a sigh of relief, "Harry?"

"Yes?" Harry was wearying of Remus' questions.

"Do you suffer from epilepsy?" Though he felt that he already knew the answer to this question, and he doubted that the potion contained in the hastily rewrapped package clutched absentmindedly in his hand was medication to counter seizures, he felt compelled to ask. After all, it was Albus he was questioning and not something one did lightly.

"What?" Harry was starting to worry about the sanity of his mentor, "No sir," he replied. What an odd question to ask, surely he would already know the answer to that, having been a professor at Hogwarts for a year not to mention one of his father…er James' best friends and had been around when he was a young child.

Remus patted Harry's knee and rose creakily to his feet. "That's what I thought," he said mostly to himself. Stretching, he placed the now lopsided package into a pocket and sat once again on the bench beside Harry.

"Um sir?" Harry looked askance at Remus.

"Yes, Harry," Remus gave him a half-smile, lost in musings of how he was going to breach the topic of the undelivered potions with Albus. It may have been someone disguised as Albus who had seen Harry off to the airport and handed him the potions, but, on the off chance that it had really been Albus and the potions had been meant for Harry's good, Remus needed a ready explanation as to why he had disobeyed the orders of the undeclared leader of the Order of the Phoenix.

"What was that all about?" Harry's curiosity was piqued.

"Oh nothing to worry about," Remus patted him on the knee once again, "why don't you go back to sleep? I'll wake you when your father arrives."

Though Harry didn't believe that it was nothing to worry about, his eyelids felt like lead and, though he tried to keep them open, they kept slipping closed again and again until he finally lost the battle and fell into a state of half-sleep. The questions he wanted to ask Remus flitted in and out of his consciousness and remained just out of grasp of his exhaustion benumbed mind.

"What's going on Remus?" Tonks asked in a stage whisper over Harry's head.

"I'm not sure yet," he answered honestly. There was still a lot that he needed to figure out about the potions which remained hidden in his pocket. He had questions which could not be answered by the sleeping boy or the lovely young woman who sat next to him; questions which could only be answered by Albus Dumbledore himself.

Tonks nodded her head, knowing that whatever was troubling the fatigued werewolf had something to do with their young charge. She had confidence that if anyone could figure it out, Remus could. She admired how hard he worked, how much he cared for others, his tender, soft-spoken ways, the tenacity with which he fought for his friends, and his unmitigated sense of right and wrong. His stubbornness and constant self-effacing, however, was something that she found vexing and was working at breaking down little-by-little. The man simply did not know his own self-worth and it angered her.

* * *

Bobby Singer walked into the airport, alert, eyes searching the small airport for any sign of the party he was looking for. He was grateful that the airport was nearly empty as he scanned the area surrounding him for a skinny boy with dark hair. His eyes soon rested on a trio sitting on a bench near the exit. There was a young lady with bright, pink hair all spiked up sitting on one side of a black-haired youth, whose hair stuck up at all angles, and an unkempt looking man sitting on the other side of the kid. The 'couple' appeared to be talking animatedly in hushed tones. The boy looked as though he were about to topple off the bench. Bobby approached them cautiously.

"Hello there," the pink-haired girl rose from the bench and greeted him cheerfully, "are you John Winchester?" Though she gave off a cheerful air, her hand clutched something beneath her traveling cloak and Bobby sensed tension in her tone.

"Hello, Bobby Singer, friend of John Winchester. He was unable to make it to the airport and asked me to pick up Harry," Bobby held out a hand. The weary-looking man grasped his hand in a firm grip and Bobby noted that he had a scar which looked like a claw wound down the length of his face. _Interesting_, he mused, sizing up the man before him.

"Remus Lupin and this is Nymphadora Tonks, pleasure to meet you," Remus stretched, working the kinks out of his neck, "just take us to John and we will release young Harry into his care and make sure that he gets settled alright." He smiled tightly.

The boy had not moved from the bench, his head rested on his chest and Bobby eyed him warily. _Looks a little like Sammy_, he narrowed his eyes, _resembles John some._

"Harry," Remus whispered, gently prodding the young man's shoulder as he knelt beside him, "Harry, time to wake up."

Harry jerked awake, blinking in his surroundings unsure of where he was at first, he wobbled on the bench, trying to get his bearings, "Sorry, 'm awake," he said sleepily thinking that his uncle had wakened him for morning chores. He wobbled unsteadily to his feet, nearly toppling over. Bobby caught him and Harry looked up into the man's brown eyes, unsettled by the concern he saw in them and completely at a loss as to who this man was.

"Harry," Remus held onto him by the waist as Tonks picked up his trunk, "easy does it. Do you know where you are?"

"Is it time to make breakfast?" Harry continued to blink, unable to see clearly, he rubbed at his eyes.

"Here you go Harry, these ought to help," Tonks pushed his glasses onto his face and the gray walls of the airport came into sudden focus.

"Where am I?" Harry still couldn't comprehend where he was or what was going on; the last few hours were all a blur to him. Everything had moved so quickly once Mad-Eyed Moody had burst into his room at the Leaky Cauldron. He half expected himself to be in his room at the Dursleys. _Why was everything spinning around him? Who was the man with the kind brown eyes who kept staring at him?_

Bobby and Remus eased Harry back onto the bench, "Are you alright Harry?" Remus asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Hold on a second, everything is spinning," Harry grabbed his head and wished for the dizziness to go away. Lately he'd been experiencing bouts of dizziness nearly every time he woke up in the morning. Whether it was due to the lack of regular nourishment or sleep, he didn't know, but it made it difficult for him to do his chores properly which led to some form of punishment.

The latest punishment had been in the form of a swift smack to the back of his head delivered by his angry aunt and deprivation of food. She often swatted Harry, most of the time it didn't hurt much, just stung a little when she was particularly angry. A couple of times, when she had used something other than her hand to deliver a blow to the back of his head, he had seen stars and worried about the possibility of having a concussion. Right now that is how he felt, like he had some sort of concussion.

"You okay?" Bobby asked skeptically, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. The kid was way too skinny for his height. His clothing, at least two sizes too big, appeared to be swallowing him whole. He was pale and shivering and his pupils were dilated. If Bobby didn't know any better, he'd say that the kid was in shock.

Harry nodded his aching head, noting that there was not even the barest trace of a prickling sensation coming from his scar. It had been plaguing him at the airport before they left London. Harry could tell that Voldemort was not happy and had a sinking suspicion that it had something to do with him. He wondered if Sirius and Dumbledore were safe as he rubbed at the scar trying to ease the dull ache. However, he noticed that the further away he got from London, the less his scar hurt.

Now, he felt nothing at all coming from his scar. _Strange_, Harry rubbed at it out of habit, _feels kind of odd for it not to hurt at all. _He felt funny, almost as though he were missing a vital, albeit lethal, part of himself.

"Let's get you back to my place and into a bed," Bobby pulled the lanky youth to his feet and held him steady when he began to sway. Remus helped keep Harry upright and Tonks followed, keeping an eye out for any possible trouble.

The ride to Bobby's salvage yard was cramped with all four of them sitting in the cab of the truck. Tonks was practically sitting in Remus' lap and Harry was squashed against the door, his head occasionally banging against the window when they hit a pothole. The bumps jarred his spine and he had to bite back a couple of gasps when the injury to his back was jostled. He strayed in and out of consciousness.

The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut caused Dean to sit up in bed. He had been unable to sleep and was very curious as to what his _brother _looked like. He quietly left the room, careful not to wake Sammy, and made his way down the hallway.

Peeking from around the corner of the hallway at the top of the stairs, he peered down in time to catch sight of Bobby carrying someone into the house. He was followed by a woman who had bright pink hair that was spiked and a man who wore a heavy tan jacket filled with pockets. His father had also been awakened by the noise and stood up, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hands.

Bobby laid the person he had carried into the house on the couch his father had vacated and Dean got a better view of him. He gasped in disbelief, the kid on the couch looked almost like Sammy when he slept, except he appeared to be much skinnier and paler, but maybe that was just because of the dim lighting in the living room.

Curious, he listened as the newly arrived guests greeted his father. They had strange accents that he couldn't quite place, but knew Sammy would be able to place instantly and they had funny names. The pink haired beauty was Tonks and the scraggly, scarred man accompanying her said his name was Remus Lupin. _Just where had this new brother of his come from?_

Much to his disappointment, the adults disappeared into the kitchen and Dean could only make out indistinct snatches of the conversation. He dared not risk venturing closer to hear what they were saying for fear of getting caught. Instead, he planted himself on the middle of the staircase and watched the kid on the couch sleep and wondered why, after all this time, he was entering their lives.

He wasn't a baby or a little kid as Dean had surmised, but he was clearly a young teen, possibly close to Sammy's age. Did this mean that their Dad had cheated on Mom? Anger flared in the pit of his stomach as he entertained that thought. How could he do that to Mom? Dean's hands formed quick fists in his lap and he clenched his jaw until it locked in place. Pure fury raged through him as he stood.

What stopped him from descending the stairs and confronting his father was not the fact that Uncle Bobby and two strangers would witness the confrontation, but the whimpering coming from the boy on the couch. It caught him completely off-guard and he stared at the boy on the couch as his whimpering increased and he began to thrash around on the couch. His anger evaporated, _that kid looks so much like Sammy_, and he was almost completely down the stairs and at the kid's side when the adults rushed into the room. He was an expert at handling nightmares, having comforted Sammy after several of them and even his father on occasion.

He retreated to the safety of the shadows in the hallway and watched the scene unfold from his position around the corner at the top of the stairs. From the looks of it, the nightmare was a big one, and Dean wondered if he should offer to help as it seemed they were unable to wake the kid. He had often succeeded in waking and comforting Sammy from his nightmares on a number of occasions when his father had been unable to. Poised to rush down the stairs, regardless of what any of the adults in the room were to think, he let out the breath he had been holding in a relieved rush when the kid finally started to wake.

* * *

_Images of Sirius, Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Cedric floated in his mind, each of them dead and pointing accusing fingers at him as he tried to explain to them that he hadn't meant for any of it to happen, he hadn't meant for them to die. Ron reached out a pale hand to strangle him as Hermione stood by laughing and Sirius pinned his arms down. Dumbledore encouraged Ron, clapping an approving hand on his back. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley cheered him on and Ginny bent down to plant a kiss on his forehead that seared hot white, like a knife had been shoved into his brain and was being twisted until he cried out for mercy. Cedric's dead eyes stared at him accusingly as he struggled, but failed to breathe. Sobs racked him. His lips formed the words, "I'm sorry," but he couldn't gather enough air in his lungs to give the words life. Tears wet his cheeks, his lips desperately formed the words that he longed to say, but couldn't: "I'm sorry Cedric, I'm sorry for getting you killed, I'm sorry that you had to die, It's all my fault…" he choked on the words, trying to spit them out._

"_It's your fault we are dead Harry," Sirius jabbed a finger into Harry's chest._

"_If only you had stood up to He-who-Must-not-be-Named, like my son Ron would've, we'd all still be alive," Mrs. Weasley spat out as she clung to Mr. Weasley._

"_It's your fault I'm dead Harry," Cedric knelt down beside Harry and placed a hand on him, almost gently, "It's your fault Harry," Harry's heart began to beat quicker as Cedric pressed down harder on his chest, "It's your fault," Harry was sweating and his tears streamed freely as his heart began to race, "Your fault Harry…" soon his heart would burst out of his chest, "Your fault Harry…Your fault Harry….Your fault Harry!"_

"Harry!" Tonks prodded him once again, alarmed when she couldn't wake him. He had been mumbling feverishly in his sleep and was caught in the throes of a rather nasty nightmare if appearances were anything to go by. The scar on his forehead looked scarlet against his ghostly pale skin.

"It's my fault, all my fault," he mumbled under his breath as he began to regain consciousness to find that he was no longer in a moving vehicle, but was lying on something soft.

"Hush now, Harry, what's your fault?" Remus brushed the sweaty hair from Harry's forehead as his troubled green eyes snapped open and he struggled to get away from the ghosts that surrounded him.

Harry had awakened from one nightmare only to be thrust into another. He was pinned down, not by Sirius, but by Lupin and it wasn't Ginny who was beside him, but Tonks. There were two other people he didn't even recognize glaring down at him.

One of them was wearing a trucker's cap and a faded blue-checkered flannel shirt over stained, well-worn blue jeans. Harry vaguely remembered him from the airport. The other man had a deep scowl on his face. Stubble covered his chin and he wore a blue shirt, unbuttoned to reveal an injured shoulder wrapped in white gauze.

_Have I really caused this many deaths, even to strangers_? Harry thought in confusion. He wished that Remus would get it over with and end his life quickly. He fervently hoped that he wasn't trapped, perpetually oscillating between two worlds, strangled by his best friend in one and killed by his father's in the other.

"Harry," Remus tried again, alarmed at the look of delirious pain in Harry's eyes.

Harry attempted to sit up, but Remus continued to hold him in place and his panic rose considerably. His breathing took on a desperate quality as he grappled with Remus. Confused, he blinked in his bright surroundings, spots dancing around the edges of his vision as darkness descended upon him.

* * *

Dean pulled his head back from around the corner. Stifling a yawn, satisfied that the adults had everything under control and desiring to check on Sammy, Dean returned to their room. Sammy hadn't been awakened by the commotion. He lay in the exact same position Dean had left him in, a small smile adorned his face. He looked peaceful in the pale light of the moon, a stark contrast to the tortured look which had haunted Harry's features.

Sitting on the edge of Sammy's bed, Dean brushed the bangs back from his brother's forehead once again and planted a light kiss on his brother's brow, much as he used to do when he was younger. "Pleasant dreams Sammy," Dean whispered as he stood. Sammy turned in the direction of his voice and he murmured softly in his sleep.

Dean returned to his own bed and slipped under the covers hoping to get some sleep before his father introduced them to Harry in just a few short hours. He was exhausted, and, in spite of the anger that he still felt toward his father for keeping Harry a secret from him and the questions which still plagued his mind, an uneasy sleep claimed him the minute his head hit the pillow.


	10. A Boy and His Dog

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

Opinions, misconceptions, and prejudices of characters within this story do not necessarily reflect the beliefs of the author.

* * *

A Boy and His Dog

He fought the darkness, struggled for breath and then strove to sit up. A burst of panic-induced adrenaline allowed him to push Remus away from him so that the man fell flat on the floor. Tonks backed away, but the John and Bobby remained standing, watching. Though he knew he didn't deserve to live, Harry didn't want to die either and so he fought his way up off of where he had been pinned down and stood on shaky legs which threatened to buckle beneath him.

"Harry, it's okay," Remus said in a subdued voice meant to calm the frantic boy, "you've had a nightmare, that's all," he stood cautiously, and backed away, not wishing to disturb Harry in his clearly altered state of mind.

Harry blinked stupidly and looked around the room with eyes that saw both what was and what was not there, a melding of two very different worlds into a single waking nightmare. The ghosts who haunted his sleep stood back in the shadows of the room waiting to take him down to the grave with them.

_Sirius, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Cedric stood united in their goal. They all stared at him with dead, tormented eyes. Each reached out a transparent hand beckoning him to join them. Heading the spectral group were the Potters, genial smiles on their faces belied their murderous intent._

"Harry, you need to wake up," Remus' voice cracked, he was at a loss as to what he should do. It pained him to see the look of despair and horror on Harry's face. It was as though he were trapped in his nightmare, unable to hear or see anything outside of its frightening grip. Though Harry's eyes were open, they remained unfocused. Remus felt tears pricking the back of his eyelids.

John stood watching the exchange curiously and with mounting trepidation. When Bobby and the three strangers had arrived, the boy had been dead asleep. Remus had carried him in and laid him on the couch once John had vacated it. John planned to sleep on the extra bed that Bobby had set up in the room Dean and Sammy were sleeping in.

Bobby, Remus, Tonks, and he had gone into the kitchen after settling Harry onto the couch. The kid with his dark, unkempt hair looked so much like Sammy, John's heart clenched in his chest. He bent and smoothed the boy's wild hair wondering briefly if he could convince him to cut it. If he was anything like Sammy, probably not.

Though they were all exhausted, there were a few details which needed to be ironed out in regard to his son's_ visit_. Bobby served water to their guests and both hunters visibly relaxed when nothing untoward happened as the guests sipped on the cleverly disguised holy water. They had passed the test; neither visitor was a demon, though there was something about the Remus fellow that didn't sit right with John. Reminded him of a werewolf he had hunted a couple of years ago.

A long, claw-like scar ran down the man's face and he looked like he'd been through a war, though he was probably the same age or younger than Bobby and he were, he looked world-weary and much older. The woman who accompanied him didn't seem to fit the bill as a social worker either. She appeared to be considerably younger than the man and sported a pink, punk-style haircut.

Their introductions were cut short when, what sounded like strangling noises, came from the living room. They all raced in to discover Harry caught up in the throes of a nightmare. Tonks' and Remus' attempts to rouse him were fruitless at first, but they had persevered and had finally managed to rouse him after ten minutes of effort.

Though, now that the kid was up and his eyes were opened, he appeared to be caught up in the nightmare still. Harry was looking around the room wild-eyed as though he were seeing things that were not there. John's alarm grew with each passing moment. _What could have happened to the kid to cause such vivid nightmares? Why hadn't it been mentioned by one of the social workers who'd spoken with him?_

Harry took a faltering step forward, trying to reach the ghosts at the edge of the room so that he could explain to them that he hadn't meant for them to die and beg for their forgiveness before they took him to the grave with them. He was lightheaded and the room started to grow dim and began to close in on him; soon the edges became warped and Harry lost his balance. His knees gave out completely and he pitched forward.

_Shit, the kid is having a night terror, _John took a step toward the boy who stood swaying and caught him as he fell. He was reminded of his own horrific nightmares which often featured his late wife burning on the ceiling calling out to him for help or his sons, dead after a hunt or at the hand of the demon he hunted, their lifeless eyes staring up at him accusingly. Shaking himself from the memories of what plagued him on many a sleepless night, he pulled Harry close to him and sat down on the couch. The kid was far too thin for someone his age. Sammy probably weighed more than he did.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," Harry sobbed, "It's my fault, all my fault," he whispered hoarsely. He had no idea where he was or who was holding him or whether he was being drawn down to the grave right then and there, so he begged for forgiveness, hoping to garner sympathy or at least stall for time.

His head hurt, his heart ached, and he simply wanted to go back to a time before Voldemort. Back to the time before he'd learned he was a wizard. _Maybe if he had thought to use the time turner for something more than saving Sirius, he could've gone far enough back in time to settle things once and for all, to end Voldemort's reign of terror or to sacrifice himself, ending his pain and Voldemort's quest for him which had cost Cedric's life and would not doubt cost the lives of many more now that the self-aggrandized psychopath was back._

"Shhh…it's alright now," John held onto the kid he had apparently just inherited and patted him on the back in an effort to comfort him. Seeing the son Mary and he had been denied the privilege of raising in obvious anguish tore at his heart. How many nights had Harry awakened from nightmares without his own mother or father to comfort him?

Harry's arms raced around John's middle, thinking that it was Remus who held him, and he wept quietly, burrowing his face into the older man's chest, "Shh…it was all just a dream, you're okay now."

John gently rubbed Harry's back, loosening his arms from around him. He felt a little uncomfortable comforting the son he hadn't officially met yet and pulled away from him slightly, unsure whether Harry fully understood who was comforting him and not wanting to frighten him any further.

Harry shook with cold and he rubbed snot from his nose on the edge of a torn sleeve. Someone handed him a handkerchief and he gratefully accepted it. He fought his way to reality as he looked around. He was in a room he didn't recognize and a man he had mistakenly thought was Remus only moments before was sitting next to him, staring hard at him, as though he were puzzling over something. The man was rubbing his back and talking soothingly to him, though Harry could not make out what he was saying and wondered who he was.

"Wh..where am I?" Harry sputtered, terror gripped him, he moved violently away from the man who sat next to him. _Had he been taken captive by Voldemort's Death Eaters?_ He attempted to stand, only to be halted by a strong, restraining grip on his shoulders.

"Harry, it's alright," _was that Remus?_ Harry turned his head to the right and visibly relaxed when he saw his old DADA professor and Tonks standing nearby. "You're in a safe place," Remus spoke softly. John shot him a questioning glance over Harry's head and Remus shook his head slightly, his lips in a thin line.

"That was quite a dream you had there, Harry," Tonks said brightly, trying to lighten the mood. Concern for the young man showed in the tense lines of her face, but her attempt at a smile helped to ease some of the tension in the room.

"S…s…sorry," Harry stuttered, turning red under the stares of the four adults in the room. Had he been at the Dursleys, he would have been awakened with shouts and pounding on his door. A purple-faced Vernon shaking him would have been his only welcome back to reality.

"It's okay Harry, we all have nightmares," Remus sat on the other side of Harry and placed an arm around his shoulders. He still looked ready to bolt from the room and Remus wasn't taking any chances. He glanced over Harry's head at John, noting that the man's hand was still resting on Harry's knee. John's immediate, protective action toward Harry eased some of the misgivings the werewolf had about leaving him in the hunter's care, though he was still leery and worried about whether or not Harry would be properly cared for and accepted by him.

"Where am I?" Harry looked around the room, noticing another man standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He had contemplative look on his face and was looking subtly between him and the man who sat next to him. He looked vaguely familiar to Harry. He tried to put the shattered pieces of the last couple of days together in his exhausted mind.

_Things had become pretty bad at the Dursley's, especially since he had begun having nightmares about Cedric and the cemetery almost every night. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't like being wakened in the dead of the night and, rather than comfort Harry, they had shaken him awake and threatened to throw him out on the street if he didn't stop crying out._

"Harry, we are at your father…uh," a sharp intake of breath from the man sitting on the other side of him drew Harry's attention away from Remus for a split second, and he looked at the stubble-faced man whom he had inadvertently blubbered all over, "John's place."

The man standing across the room from them snorted, but Remus ignored him, "Remember? Tonks and I brought you here to stay with him for the summer." Harry hesitated; gathering his muddled thoughts, he nodded slightly as it all came rushing back to him in a whirl of remembered snatches of words and phrases which were strangely in Dumbledore's voice. "Good, that's good," Remus patted Harry's back gently as the boy nodded his head in understanding.

"Sorry," he muttered softly, turning his eyes away from the stares of the adults. Embarrassed and humiliated, he bit his lower lip and whispered, "Sorry," once more.

_He'd had another nightmare and at the worst possible time. He'd been with his new father, whom he hadn't even met properly yet, for all of an hour and had shown himself to be nothing more than a wimp and a crybaby by slobbering all over him. _Placing his head heavily in his hands, he let out a soft groan, sure that he would be joining Remus and Tonks when they returned to London later that morning. _Who would be willing to take him in now? He was nothing but a nuisance and a burden._ An unbidden tear slid down his nose and fell to the floor with a quiet splash. _Great, _Harry groaned, _I'm a blubbering mess. Get a grip!_

"It's okay Harry, perhaps you should try to get some rest," Remus drew Harry into a one-armed hug. Nodding, Harry looked up into his friend's eyes, noting the compassion within them. Shooting a quick glance at the stranger standing across from them, he was reminded of another pair of compassionate eyes which had met his own confused ones at the airport not too long ago.

_Compassion and understanding were two things he would never get at the Dursleys. He really didn't want to go back there and knew they would protest his return, but at the moment he couldn't see how anyone would be willing to take him in after his emotional outburst. What had gotten into him? Maybe if he made an effort not to let his emotions rule him, his father would still be willing to let him stay._

Resigned to his fate, he lay back on the couch and closed his tired eyes, hoping that the images of Cedric's death and the others would not confront him again. A blanket was draped over him and he was lulled to sleep by a deep, rumbling voice assuring him that he was safe as fingers lightly stroked his hair in a soothing manner. He caught the sound of faint whispers and footsteps retreating from the room, but he was too exhausted to open his eyes and sleep was already claiming him.

"I'll stay back and keep an eye on the boy," Bobby grunted in a gruff whisper, taking a seat in the armchair next to the cold fireplace. He had no idea what the boy had dreamt of, but wanted to be around to wake him before it could trap him in its grip again should the dream come back.

It had clearly been a terrifying dream and Bobby knew something about what it was like to have such nightmares. He had been through his own share of real-to-life nightmares too many times to count. Panic gripping his heart, squeezing his lungs so that he couldn't breathe. Yes, he knew what such nightmares could be like and he wanted to make sure that Harry would not have to experience another nightmare like that on his own without anyone there to , while John and the others solidified the arrangements for care of the boy, Bobby watched over him as he slept, hoping that his sleep would be peaceful.

* * *

John looked over the papers that Remus handed him, his shoulder was killing him, he had the start of a nasty headache, and he was plumb exhausted. It had been a rough week, learning of his orphaned son and hunting a nasty poltergeist that just hadn't wanted to die. Rubbing a calloused hand over his face, he sighed. Everything seemed to be in order. Remus and Tonks, _strange names_, were keeping up an easy banter as he looked over the papers with a careful eye. The words were beginning to blur together and he blinked, clearing his vision.

_Should he sign the papers, and take the frail boy in? He already had his hands full with Dean and Sammy. Surely another, more suitable living arrangement could be found for Harry, even if these papers indicated that there was no such placement available. If these social service people knew what he did for a living, they would be yanking the kid out of there faster than he could say, 'Goodbye'. _

_How the hell was he supposed to care for a kid who had grown up in a normal home with a normal life and one who appeared to be emotionally unstable? His own boys had been trained to fight demons and monsters from a young age, Harry clearly would be unable to handle that. No way would he be able to train him in the finer arts of ridding the world of ghosts and ghouls. Trying to keep what he did for a living, what he had Dean and Sammy doing alongside him, would be next to impossible. It would be far more sensible for someone else to take Harry._

"If you'd rather, you can think on it a little more tonight and sign tomorrow," Remus bit back a yawn. Tonks looked ready to pass out. He wasn't sure if John's signature were absolutely necessary, but Albus had insisted that it be obtained, citing that it was a Muggle practice and John would be suspicious if Harry were merely handed over to him without any accompanying paperwork.

Remus would happily take Harry away with him, signature or not. He still had misgivings about leaving Harry in the care of a hunter even though the man had been gentle with him after he'd awoken from his nightmare. Remus wondered, however, if that care would've been extended to Harry had John known that the boy was a wizard.

He knew that both John and Bobby were not as oblivious as Dumbledore seemed to think they were. They regarded Tonks and him with mild, yet weary suspicion. If they learned that he was a werewolf and Tonks a witch, Remus knew that, regardless of the 'official paperwork' Dumbledore had sent with him, they would more than likely be killed and maybe even Harry would be killed as well. Though, given that there was ample 'proof' that Harry was John's son, Remus believed that John would probably be open to listening where his flesh and blood was concerned.

He was starting to question why he had insisted upon being one of the 'social workers' to accompany Harry as he met his father in America. Initially, he had asked Dumbledore if he could accompany Harry because he wanted to make sure that Harry would be safe and well-cared for and he wanted to see Harry settled. Dumbledore had agreed that it would be best for Harry to have at least one familiar face on his journey and had agreed to allow Remus to go as the full moon would be past and Harry seemed to be comfortable with him. Dumbledore had flat-out refused Sirius' request to accompany Harry on the journey and Sirius had threatened to hex him if he so much as suggested that Severus be the one to see that Harry was settled.

Remus leaned back in his chair, watching John as he sifted through the papers. _Would he sign and take over guardianship of Harry or would he refuse to take in his own son? His fingers absentmindedly brushed against the package containing the vials of a potentially poisonous potion meant for John to administer to Harry and Remus sighed in relief that he had taken it upon himself to 'snoop'. The incantation that he had murmured over the package itself as he opened it allowed him to see the 'medication' for what it truly was, but had he left it for John to open, his eyes would have seen what the vials had been charmed to resemble, syringes filled with a clear liquid. Harry would not have had a chance. He would definitely be confronting Albus upon his return. Either he had given him the questionable vials meant for Harry or it had been someone disguised as him. Whatever the case, Harry's life was in considerable danger and Remus was going to have a talk with the elder wizard about Harry's protection while residing with his father. He did not have the faith in John Winchester that Albus appeared to._

John knew that the right thing to do was to send the boy back with the social workers_. He'll be safer living with someone else, anyone else. Harry doesn't need to be brought into the same dark world that I've raised my other two boys in._

Convinced he was making the right decision in officially giving up all rights to Harry, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Yawning, he rested his head in his hands. He just couldn't see how he would be able to raise another son on the road, even if it was just for the summer months and even with Bobby's help. It would be impossible for him to protect Harry from the truth and it would be cruel for him to attempt to make him into a hunter as he had Dean and Sammy.

As he sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, an image of Mary flashed before him. He often dreamt of her, but this was something different. It felt as though she were there and that if he but reached out a hand, he would be able to touch her.

_Though his eyes were closed, he could see her clearly. She was wearing a green sweater that made her green eyes sparkle and simple blue jeans which hugged her curves. He wanted to walk over to her, hold her, and never let go, but she shook her head, 'no,' and pointed to the living room where the boy, Harry, slept with a pained look on his face. _

_Mary walked over to Harry and brushed the dark, unruly hair, not unlike Sammy's, off his forehead, revealing a single lightning bolt-shaped scar. She raised her beautiful green eyes to John and smiled, grimly._

"_John, he needs you. Our little boy needs you," she whispered before bending down. Placing a brief kiss on Harry's sweaty forehead, she vanished_.

John's eyes snapped open. He was still sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. Gasping for air, as though he were drowning, he fought back tears. The dream, if that is what it had been, had seemed so real.

"Are you alright?" Tonks had leapt from the chair, sending it crashing to the floor, when she heard John's pained gasp. She ran over to John worried that something had happened to him. He lifted his head, eyes filled with unshed tears, and nodded. Tonks sighed in relief and righted her chair, plopping down in it once more.

"I know that it is a difficult decision to make and that you haven't been given much time to think about it," Remus stared at the man whose hand shook as he held a pen over the papers, "I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you to take your time, but we need to have your decision prior to our departure tomorrow, or rather, later today." He smiled apologetically as he looked at the clock.

The image of Mary fresh in his mind, he could even smell the hint of lavender and vanilla that had always permeated their home before she had been killed, John gripped the pen tighter in his shaking hand_. It could be a trick_, he had to make sure that what he had seen was not merely an illusion or something his sleep-deprived mind had concocted.

He stood suddenly and walked into the living room, pen and papers still gripped absentmindedly in one hand. He walked over to the boy and brushed his hair back. There it was, scarlet on his pale white forehead, a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt, like the one Mary had shown him. Like the one in the folded picture which resided in his wallet. What was unique, however, was the faint outline of glittering lip prints which lingered on Harry's forehead.

Taking a shaky breath, he smoothed the boy's hair back in place and removed Harry's neglected glasses, placing them on the coffee table before returning to the kitchen and signing the papers which officially declared him the legal, rightful parent and guardian of Harry Potter. He handed the signed documents to Remus without saying a word. Whether it was a dream or a hallucination, John did not know, but he felt in his gut that taking Harry in was what Mary would have wanted.

Returning to the living room, he checked on Harry. The boy continued to sleep, though a frown marred his face. John brushed the fringe of Harry's hair with trembling fingers and he bent down, placing a light kiss upon the spot Mary's lips had touched.

Turning abruptly, he noticed Bobby keeping watch in the armchair, "Go on to bed John, I've got it from here," he whispered to the bone-weary man. John nodded his thanks and led Remus and Tonks upstairs, getting them settled for sleep that would be far too short before collapsing on the bed Bobby had set up in the room his boys shared. Closing his eyes, he whispered to Mary, "I don't know if I can do this." He felt a gentle breeze pass over him and the tension left his body as tender lips ghosted across his own, _"Yes, you can, John. I believe in you."_ He was asleep before she left, the scent of lavender and vanilla clinging to the air.

Bobby fell into an uneasy sleep in the armchair shortly after John and the others had gone up to bed. Snatches of his life before he had become a hunter flashed through his mind. Images of what his life had been like before his wife had been possessed, before John and his boys had invaded his home and his heart. He didn't live in regret; too much time was wasted that way. He learned from his mistakes and moved on.

He wasn't sure that John should take this kid in even if he turned out to be his son; he appeared to be so fragile. John didn't do fragile; he was tough on his sons, expecting them to be strong and brave beyond their years. This kid seemed to embody the very opposite of those ideals and Bobby worried about the damage that John could do to his sensitive, vulnerable nature. He worried that John would try to train the boy to become a hunter, and Bobby vowed not to let that happen.

* * *

As Harry slept, his tired mind was assaulted once again with memories of Cedric's murder at the hands of Peter Pettigrew and the return of Lord Voldemort that his blood had made possible.

_Once more, he was cold and alone in the foggy cemetery, fastened to a headstone with rope that cut painfully into his skin as he struggled against the tight binding. The disembodied voice of Lord Voldemort floated on the air, commanding Peter to cut into his exposed arm, drawing the blood that would help give the wizard a corporeal body. Voldemort's laugh as Harry fought in vain against Peter sent shivers down his spine. His blood was spilled; Voldemort was one step closer to being what he once was. One step closer to being who he had been before the curse he hurled at Harry backfired and left him a mere shadow of a man._

_Fear gripped his heart and panic stole his breath. Before he could cry out as he was about to relive the cruciatus Voldemort had thrown at him, Harry's dream shifted. He was no longer in the cemetery, surrounded by death, bound to a gravestone, but was surrounded by warmth and sunshine as his dream was invaded by a beautiful blonde-haired woman whose green eyes captured his own. _

_The fear and dark images left him as the nightmare receded from his mind. He followed her out of the dream, leaving a ranting Voldemort behind. He followed her into a living room where a man sat watching him. Her gaze brought him past the watcher to a dark-haired man who sat at a kitchen table, paper and pen in hand. He looked as though he was agonizing over something important and Harry belatedly realized that the pen and paper he held in his hand would seal his fate. She smiled at him, "He's a good man, Harry. Give him time. If you let him, he can help you." _

_Harry puzzled over her words as she led him up the stairs and into a room where two boys slept. She knelt, kissing one and then the other on the cheek. She stood over a boy with crew cut brown hair, whispering something that Harry could not hear and turned back to him, "Harry, this is my son, your older brother, Dean. He will need some time to get used to having you around. Don't worry; he has a big, kind heart, like you." She then whispered something indiscernible over a boy with messy, black hair, "Harry, this is my son, your younger brother, Sammy, you and he have much in common. You will be a great comfort to each other." And with that she was gone, leaving Harry back on the couch wondering if he had imagined the whole thing._

Harry woke with a start to find himself on a lumpy brown couch; the man who had been watching him was fast asleep in an old, torn armchair, his head at an awkward angle as he slept. Harry stood, wrapped the blanket around himself, and walked out the front door. It was dark yet and the air was chilly, but he didn't want to risk waking the others again with one of his nightmares.

Yawning, he sat down on the top step of the front porch, looking at the stars twinkling overhead. They were so bright and there were so many of them. He marveled at how close they appeared to be. On Privet Drive they had seemed so far away on nights when they could be seen.

The sound of light snoring momentarily set Harry's heart beating at top speed and, in spite of the fear that he felt, he willed his eyes to look for the source of the sound,. He hoped that it was not some strange beast out of one of Hagrid's textbooks.

His eyes soon rested on a large dark form to his right. Its head was about a foot away from where Harry sat. The creature opened a dark eye and regarded Harry with something akin to lazy interest. Letting out a shuddering breath, it opened its other eye and stood, stretching as it yawned. It drew closer to Harry, nudging him until the boy began to pet it. It plopped down next to Harry and yawned once more before lying down and once more closing its eyes as Harry continued to caress its silky fur.

Harry kept up the methodical, repetitive action of petting the dog until sleep claimed him and he slumped over, head landing on the furry coat of the dog. Reminded of Padfoot, he hugged the warm body of the strange dog closer and felt the safest he had in a long time.

Bobby's half dream, thought-like state was brought to an abrupt halt at the sound of the front door opening and closing softly. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he glanced around the room and jumped from the armchair when he saw that Harry was no longer soundly asleep on the couch. His heart hammered in his chest as his mind ran through a number of possibilities as to what could have happened to the boy.

He strode to the front door, pulled it open, and looked at first beyond where the boy lay and then finally his eyes rested on something he would never have dreamed possible. There, lying on his front porch was John's newfound son clinging to Rumsfeld, his Rottweiler. Chuckling, he watched the unlikely pair. Kneeling, he adjusted the blanket around Harry's shoulders. Rumsfeld lifted his head and glared at his owner for disturbing his sleep before laying his head back down with a low, protective growl.

_It's going to be a long night_, Bobby sighed as he sat on his porch swing, keeping an eye on the boy and his dog, content to watch over them as they slept.


	11. Meet and Greet

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

* * *

Meet and Greet

Harry awoke to a warm wet tongue lapping his face and sat up abruptly as the memory of what had happened in the course of the past forty-eight hours washed over him. The blanket that had been carefully wrapped around him fell off his shoulders and pooled in his lap, leaving him shivering. Rubbing at his eyes, he yawned, taking in the blurry scenery. He was surrounded by dirt and cars in various degrees of disassemble_; Mr. Weasley would love this place._

Frowning at the thought of having a father who wasn't James Potter, Harry reached down to stroke the fur of the dog that had placed its muzzle in his lap. Looking down at the dark, silky fur, he was reminded of Sirius, not because this dog looked anything like his godfather's animagus form, but because of the comfort and protection that seemed to emanate from the dog. He felt safe.

He hadn't felt safe after what had happened in the cemetery. In truth, he had never truly felt safe outside of the halls of Hogwarts and even there, he had found that safety was no more than an illusion. The dog stirred and raised its head up to Harry's as though sensing a change in his mood. Whining sympathetically, the dog's golden, brown eyes took on a pleading look and he nudged Harry's idle hand with his nose, begging him to pet him again. Smiling, Harry hugged the dog close, allowing his eyes to close briefly before resuming his petting of the dog that had kept him company throughout the night.

"Thank you," He whispered into the dog's fur, "for keeping me warm and for," Harry rubbed the grinning dog's ears, "protecting me. I know you won't understand this, but you remind me of a friend of mine."

Bobby watched Harry wake, stifling an exclamation of surprise as Rumsfeld licked the boy's face. The dog was a great companion and an excellent watchdog, but was not the most affectionate of animals. He had been tolerant of Dean and Sammy when they were younger, but had never really allowed either of them to really pet him and certainly wouldn't have allowed them to hug him. Maybe he had sensed a need in Harry that he hadn't in the other boys.

Shaking his head, Bobby continued to watch, amazed at how in tune with the boy Rumsfeld seemed to be. Harry, likewise, seemed to be just as in tune with Rumsfeld and knew what the dog wanted when he nudged him.

Not wanting to startle Harry, Bobby waited as Harry hugged the dog and spoke to Rumsfeld in a tremulous whisper. _Just what kind of friend would a dog remind a boy of? _He puzzled. _Now, how the heck am I gonna get the boy's attention without scaring the crap outta him?_

Just as that thought occurred to him, Bobby's front screen door was slammed open with a loud bang. Harry became entangled in the blanket as he attempted to stand and he crashed to the ground in an undignified heap. Rumsfeld jumped protectively in front of Harry, hackles up. Growling low in his throat, he bared his teeth.

"Bobby!" A frantic John called, "The kid's missing! Have you seen him?" John took in the sight of Harry sitting on the porch, Bobby not too far from him. Relief registered briefly in his eyes before anger, spurred on by dispelled fear gave his voice an edge, "Do you know how long we've been looking for you?" He pierced Harry with a fiery glare.

Standing, Bobby met John's glare, fists clenched at his side, "Harry get inside the house," Bobby glanced sideways at the boy who had finally managed to untangle his legs and get into a half-standing position. The boy's eyes were wide with fear and he was hyperventilating, backpedaling along the porch away from John. Another step backwards and he would fall off the porch. Bobby reached an arm out to stop the backward descent as Harry teetered on the top step.

"John, help me here," Bobby sent a desperate look toward the man who had calmed down considerably when he caught the look of terror on Harry's face. He reached out toward the boy who turned his fear-filled eyes on him as though pleading with him to stop an assault. Bobby backed down a step to catch the tottering boy as John grasped his arm. Rumsfeld planted himself defensively between Harry and John, making it awkward. For a moment all four were frozen at a standstill on the porch.

"S…sorry," Harry sputtered, "I just didn't want to wake anyone if I had another nightmare," he looked down at a spot on his overlarge, tattered jeans as unwanted tears threatened to fall down his face. _Way to impress your new father,_ he thought bitterly, _start off on a new crying jag_.

"It's okay," John released Harry as Bobby helped him settle on the porch. Rumsfeld backed off, sitting next to Harry so that Harry's hand rested on the top of his head. Harry absentmindedly curled his fingers in the dog's short fur, gulping as he stared at John, sure that the man was about to send him packing.

"I reckon it's time for breakfast," Bobby guided Harry into the house by his elbow, brushing past an exasperated John along the way. Letting out a frustrated breath, John followed the two into the house, sending a backwards glance at Rumsfeld who let out one more low growl as though in rebuke. Shaking his head, John let the screen door slam shut behind him.

When Harry entered the kitchen under Bobby's guidance, he stopped short in the doorway. Seated around the table were Remus, Tonks, and two teenage boys. He cast his eyes to the floor and faltered a step or two. Bobby pushed him further into the room. He stood awkwardly before the table, under the watchful gaze of the two teenage boys. He could sense their curious stares and felt like fleeing the room under their scrutiny.

"Good morning Harry," Remus greeted cheerfully, gesturing for Harry to take a seat next to him.

"Mornin'," Harry mumbled back as he was propelled into the seat by Bobby. Tonks wrapped him in a one arm greeting, knocking over a, thankfully empty, glass in the process and apologizing profusely as she righted it.

John followed Harry into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. He, Dean, and Sammy sat directly across from Remus, Tonks, and Harry, who still continued to look downward. _The boys sitting across from him looked like the ones that the lady from his dream had introduced him to, what were their names? Dean and Sammy? _Bobby stood near the sink, arms folded as he watched the six around his kitchen table.

"Dad, what's going on?" Sammy was the first to ask the question that had been weighing on his and Dean's minds since they had come downstairs and seen the strangers in Bobby's house.

Clearing his throat, John looked at his youngest son and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Bobby, "You still haven't told them?"

"The time was never right," John complained gruffly, looking at his hands.

"What's going on?" Dean looked from his father to Bobby, careful not to let it slip that he knew all about his Dad's dirty little secret.

"Er…perhaps we ought to wait outside," Remus stood, gesturing for Tonks to do the same. Harry made to stand as well, but was gently pushed back into his seat by Remus who smiled at him encouragingly as he and Tonks left.

Now that the bright-haired Tonks and the scarred Remus had left, everyone's eyes seemed to be on him. Harry thought longingly of his invisibility cloak, wishing that there were a spell or a potion he could use to make himself disappear. Sensing that Harry was about to flee, Bobby took a seat next to him and placed an arm on the back of his chair, effectively keeping him in place and offering him comfort at the same time.

"Dean, Sammy," John cleared his throat, "this is…"

"Harry, Harry Potter," Harry supplied thinking that John had forgotten his name. _Why should he remember the name of a son he had never wanted and would probably never want?_

"Your brother," John met Harry's startled eyes across the table.

_John had introduced him as Dean and Sammy's brother. Did that mean that he wasn't going to send him away after all? Even after the nightmare and sleeping on the porch? Did that mean that he might possibly have a real family someday? _

"What are you talking about Dad?" Sammy looked disbelievingly from his father to Harry.

Dean stood abruptly, causing his chair to scrape along the floor, "Go ahead and tell him Dad! Tell him how you cheated on Mom and have a bastard son," Dean, seething in anger, glowered at his father, and cast an arm in Harry's direction.

"Sit down son," John commanded. There was a dangerous edge to his voice and he was half standing.

Sammy cast a look of confusion between his father and Dean. _Had his father really cheated on his mother? Was Harry his half-brother?_

Dean wavered in anger, glaring at his Dad before sitting heavily in the chair, slamming the legs down as he moved it back to the table. Sammy had a dazed look on his face as though he had just been slapped. Harry clasped his hands in his lap so no one would see them trembling. He concentrated on his breathing, in…out…in…out… _this is nothing compared to facing a young Tom Riddle or a basilisk_, he reasoned.

"Dean, I never cheated on your mother," John met his son's cool gaze head on until Dean looked away, "your mother and I, we," he held up a hand as Sammy opened his mouth to speak, "we visited a…clinic…um, well, we couldn't…that is…well your mother and I had some difficulties…," John's face had grown red as he stumbled through his explanation, _this is harder than I thought_.

"Dad, no way, you guys didn't… it can't be true," Dean's face screwed up in disbelief. _What his father was saying or rather attempting, and horribly failing to say, could not possibly be true. If it were true that would mean that he… that he was… that he was not born naturally…that he was a test-tube baby._

"Dean, it was what your mother wanted. We went to the clinic because she wanted a child, she wanted you," John's eyes softened as he held the questioning eyes of his eldest son.

"But…" Dean trailed off, unable to voice the question which seemed to have emblazoned itself on his mind: _What does that make me then? Am I a freak?_

"Dean," John waited until his son once again met his gaze, "we both wanted you and we did what we had to do."

Dean's eyes had lost their hard edge and he blinked as the full meaning of his father's revelation dawned on him. His mother and father had gone to great lengths to have him and Harry was a byproduct of that.

"So, Harry is, um," Sammy frowned in confusion, wondering what his Dad and Dean were talking about. He knew that his mom and dad had wanted Dean, what did that have to do with Harry? "Um, how is he our brother?" He gestured across the table to Harry.

"What? Are you five?" Dean thwacked the back of Sammy's head.

"Ow, what'd you do that for?" Sammy rubbed his head before poking Dean with his elbow. Harry watched the exchange through the fringe of his hair.

"Boys!" John stopped Dean from retaliating mid-thwack.

The exchange reminded Harry of the Weasley's, George and Fred in particular. He held back a timid smile as he caught the murderous look on John's face. Harry swallowed the dryness that tickled his throat. John did not look happy and Harry didn't want to make him any angrier than he already was.

"As I was saying," John glared at his sons, "Harry's parents visited the same clinic we did not too long after, and they had some help um," John fumbled for the right words, "well, that is there was a mix up…"

"What?" Dean sprang up out of his seat, "What kind of mix-up?"

"Dean," John warned sternly and the boy slouched in his seat, crossing his arms angrily across his chest, "The doctors took more than one _sample_," John explained as patiently as he could, hoping that he would not have to go into any greater detail.

"So," Dean leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, looking pointedly at Harry, "does that mean that there could be other Winchesters out there, besides Harry that is?"

"I don't think so," John answered thoughtfully. _God I hope not._

"Um, Dad," Sammy entered the conversation carefully; "I don't get it. How is Harry my brother?"

"They used Dad's sperm and mom's egg to create Harry," Dean answered out of exasperation before his father could, chuckling at the grossed out look on Sammy's face.

"Dean!" John scolded.

"Well that's what happened, isn't it?" Dean grinned at his father whose own resolve was beginning to dwindle as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"That is one way to put it I guess," John inclined his head in Dean's direction, noting that Sammy looked a little green and Harry looked like wished he could disappear into thin air.

"It's called in vitro fertilization," Harry, eyes still firmly focused on the back of his hands, offered quietly. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to speak up; it wasn't as though Dean's explanation hadn't been thorough enough.

Again, he found himself speaking in spite of his quiet inner voice urging him not to, "My mum, er that is," he grimaced and looked up to find Dean, Sammy, and John's eyes on him, "Lily Potter, um, according to Professor Dumbledore, she and my dad, er…um James Potter, couldn't," he broke off, unsure whether to continue, "they couldn't have children on their own and, I guess my mum… Lily Potter chose your parents," his eyes met Sammy's and the two shared a look of understanding, "from a picture," he pulled the well-viewed picture from his back pocket and placed it on the table in front of him, smoothing it out as he did so, "to be the um donors for, well to, um..." blushing, Harry stared at the picture of John and Mary Winchester.

"And bada boom bada bang, that is how Harry here came to be our very own test-tube brother," Dean finished, looking from Harry to Sammy, noting how both boys' eyes were boring into the picture Harry had placed on the table. He snuck a cursory glance at the photograph and felt his heart jerk; his mother had been so beautiful. It was obvious by the way his father looked at her in the picture, that he loved her.

"Yes, that is how Harry was born," John sighed, relieved that the worst part of the explanation was over thanks to Dean and Harry, "and he'll be staying with us for the summer, just until the end of August because his surrogate mother and father died and the truth of his birth was recently uncovered. And before you ask," John held his hands up to quell his boys' questions, "Bobby has agreed to let us board here for the summer. I will still be going on my business trips," he cleared his throat and gave the boys a pointed look, "but for the most part, this is where we will call home for awhile."

"Yippee!" Sam hooted, casting a goofy look in Bobby's direction.

"Will Sammy and I still be able to join you on some of your business trips?" Dean's tone grew serious.

Nodding his head, John answered, "Yes, but only on the ones closer to home."

"What about Harry, will he be coming on the trips with us?" Sammy let out a grunt of pain and glared at Dean as his older brother stomped on his foot beneath the table.

"I don't think that would be the best thing for right now," John shot Sammy a look that had the younger boy squirming in his seat.

Harry nervously looked down at his clasped hands, wondering why his father didn't want him to come on the trips with them. _He had agreed to take him in, but maybe he wasn't good enough to be treated like one of his real sons. What is it that Dean had called him, a test-tube brother? Maybe he was even more of a freak than the Dursley's had originally thought. His father was probably afraid that he would have another nightmare and freak out on him or turn into a sniveling mess on one of the business trips. _

"Harry will be staying here with me when you join your dad on a business trip," Bobby smiled, patting Harry on the shoulder, effectively holding him in place as he looked once more like he was about to bolt out the door.

"So, he's really our brother?" Sammy asked, really looking at Harry for the first time. Harry's head was bowed and his hands were twisted in his lap. Sensing everyone's eyes on him, he brought his head up, gulping down the lump that had formed in his throat. His green eyes shone bright with self-conscious fear.

"Yes, he's really your brother," John nodded.

"Harry, I'm Sammy," Sammy held out his hand across the table for Harry to shake, "your brother." Harry carefully untangled his hands and, willing them to stop shaking, slid one of them across the table to shake hands with his little _brother_.

"Hello Sammy," Harry returned his younger brother's smile tremulously as he whispered, "nice to meet you."

"Dean," Dean nodded. Harry returned the nod with a timid smile that looked more like a grimace.

Dean folded his arms in front of his chest and regarded his new _brother_ with a measuring gaze. He looked smaller than Sammy, but given what his Dad had said, he was older. His clothing was about ten times too big for him and it looked like it was swallowing him alive. Though he looked better than the quivering figure he had witnessed last night, he still seemed a bit off, a little too cautious and like he was hiding something.

"Now that the greetings are out of the way, how about some breakfast?" Bobby stood and stretched.

"What would you like me to make?" Harry asked, standing, eager to be doing something useful.

"I've got it, why don't you go get Tonks and Remus?" Bobby cast a sideways look at John.

"Really, it's no big deal, I make breakfast all the time for my aunt, uncle, and cousin," Harry took a step toward Bobby, "I've been doing it since I was, well since I can remember," Harry faltered, not really sure of how old he was when Aunt Petunia had first trusted him at the stove. He wanted to prove himself useful to his new family in some way.

"How old are you?" Sammy asked.

"I'll be fifteen July 31st," Harry replied.

"That's only a year and a half younger than Dean and I just turned twelve in May," Sammy chattered away, eager to get to know his new big brother.

"Why don't you go get your friends from the front porch?" John noticed that Harry looked a little overwhelmed, "Dean and Sammy, you boys go get cleaned up. Harry you can wait in the living room until the bathroom's ready, Dean or Sammy will show you to the room where your suitcase is and you can get ready for breakfast."

Dean and Sammy stood and hurried out of the kitchen, racing to see who could make it to the bathroom first. Harry walked hesitantly out of the room, unsure of where he stood with his new father and brothers. He led Remus and Tonks to the living room and waited for Dean to return, listening to Remus and Tonks as they made small talk, absentmindedly answering when they asked him a question. They would be leaving for London later that day, leaving Harry an entire ocean away; with a family he had just met. Harry almost wished he could go back with them, even if that meant returning to the Dursleys.

"Harry?" Remus nudged the unresponsive boy sitting next to him, "I think it's your turn to tidy up," he nodded in Dean and Sammy's direction and Harry blushed. His mind had been elsewhere and he hadn't even noticed when they had returned to the living room.

"I'll show you where everything is," Sammy turned to make sure that Harry was following and he led his new brother up the stairs chattering away about how great staying at Uncle Bobby's was going to be and how he couldn't wait to show Harry the tree house in the backyard and on and on it went until Harry felt dizzy.

"Well, here's the room that all three of us," Sammy stopped in front of a door, allowing Harry to enter the sparsely furnished room, "you, Dean, and me will be sharing," he motioned at each of the three beds in turn. Waiting for Harry to gather some items from his suitcase, he guided Harry to the bathroom and paused just inside the doorframe, "Everything you need should be here, but if you can't find anything, just holler, okay?"

A little overwhelmed, Harry nodded and waited for Sammy to leave before quietly closing the bathroom door and sagging against it in relief. His lower back sent a spasm of pain through him and he jumped away from the door. Pulling off the baggy sweatshirt he had been wearing for the past three days, he wrinkled his nose as he tossed it in a corner of the bathroom in disgust.

Turning to survey his back in the mirror, he winced slightly as he brushed his fingers gingerly over the marks his Uncle's belt had left on him. The thick, red welts were tender to the touch when Harry prodded them and he sucked a breath in, holding it before letting it out again. Usually his magic kicked in by now, aiding in the healing process. His welts looked as though they had grown worse since he last looked at them.

Sighing, he stripped and stepped into the shower, grateful to finally be out of the grimy clothing, he turned the water on and stood beneath its rhythmic, calming spray for a minute. Careful not to turn the water to a warmer setting Harry quickly washed and made sure to be out of the shower in record time. Unsure of what the rules were at 'Uncle' Bobby's place, he operated under the assumption that, as he was no relation to the man, it would be similar to that of the Dursley's and precious water was not to be wasted on him.

Stepping out of the shower, he quickly dried and started dressing in the best Dudley hand-me-downs he had: a tattered, only slightly stained, t-shirt that was merely three sizes too big and a pair of threadbare jeans which he cinched around his waist with a belt.

Scrutinizing himself in the mirror, he brushed impatiently at his hair in an attempt to get it to lie down on his head rather than stick out at the odd angles it had when he first stepped out of the shower. He noted the pinched, starved look on his face; he rarely regarded his reflection at the Dursleys, knowing that he wouldn't like what he saw.

A thin boy with bloodshot eyes stared back at him from the mirror and Harry exchanged a look of self-loathing before looking angrily away and plucking a hooded sweatshirt from the floor. It too was several sizes too big, but it was the best hand-me-down he had inherited from his whale of a cousin.

Dudley had cast it aside after only wearing it once, furious that his friend, Piers, had the exact same one. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had consoled the tub of a boy by immediately tossing the hooded sweatshirt in Harry's direction and promising to buy their precious, 'Duddykins,' whatever he wanted to make up for the traumatizing experience.

There were no tears in it and it had even smelled like new clothing. Harry had quickly hid it beneath his bed, knowing that it could just as easily be taken from him, especially if his aunt and uncle noted that it was in pristine condition. Harry, in their esteem, was undeserving of anything good.

A timid knock sounded on the door and Sammy popped into the bathroom, "Breakfast's ready," Sammy's voice, full of excitement, broke through his reverie. He whirled around as Sammy entered the bathroom and gathered up his dirty clothing.

"I can get that," Harry reached for the clothing, but Sammy sidestepped him and ducked out of the door before Harry fully registered what was happening. Dumbfounded and slightly bemused, he made sure that his wand was tucked in the invisible pouch Dumbledore had provided for him and followed in his younger brother's wake.

The savory scents of bacon, pancakes, toast, eggs, and orange juice accosted his senses and Harry's stomach growled. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he walked into the kitchen. Looking around the crowded table, he saw that the only remaining open seat placed him between Sammy and Remus.

The table was packed with food, reminding Harry of mornings at Hogwarts. Due to Dudley's doctor prescribed diet, the Dursley's breakfast table was a sorry approximation of this one. Consequently, Harry hadn't eaten a decent meal since before he left Hogwarts and that was over two weeks ago.

Even so, when he had seated himself at the table, he sat back and watched as everyone helped themselves to the food which had been generously prepared by Bobby. He was reluctant to help himself, not sure what the rules at 'Uncle' Bobby's house would be. At the Dursley's, the members of the family and any proper guests were allowed to eat first, Harry, provided that he was allowed to eat that day, had to wait until everyone else had eaten their share before he was served whatever remaining leftovers there were. With Dudley and Vernon for relatives, more often than not, a half a slice of soggy burnt toast and possibly a cold, chewy piece of bacon were all that Harry would receive to tide him over through a long day of seemingly endless chores.

Bobby secretly observed the occupants of his overly crowded kitchen. Remus and John were carrying on a quiet conversation, each man apparently having found something in common with the other. Sammy was hungrily digging into his eggs like he had not eaten for a year. Dean was talking animatedly to Tonks who had been careful to place her glass of orange juice as far from her wandering elbow as possible.

Harry, however, was sitting as far back from the table as he could get without running the risk of anyone noticing. His plate and glass remained empty, though he eyed the food and juice on the table almost covetously. The baggy clothing he wore did little to disguise his emaciated form and Bobby wondered if the boy had an eating disorder.

Standing, on the pretense of getting something from the fridge, Bobby reached over Harry and began filling his plate with eggs, toast, bacon, and a couple of pancakes. He then poured some juice into the boy's glass and returned to his own seat, meeting the boy's grateful, haunted eyes across the table. Nodding at Harry, he resumed eating and smiled when the boy hesitantly began to pick at his food and then dug into it like he had been nearly starved to death.

When everyone had eaten their fill, Remus and Tonks offered to clear the table and John, Sammy and Dean went to work on the dishes. Harry had only been able to eat half of what had been placed on his plate, but had been able to finish off the entire glass of orange juice. He helped Bobby put the leftover food away, in spite of the number of people who had eaten, there was still quite a bit which could be eaten later. _What a stark contrast from breakfast or any other meal at the Dursleys_, Harry thought humorlessly.

When the kitchen had been cleaned, Remus and Tonks packed up their bags and met Harry in the living room. Bobby would be driving them to the airport where they would, unbeknownst to the hunters, be met by the Southwest Division of the Wizardry Investigatory Network and set up with a magical mode of transportation back to London.

Remus had been surprised by some of the questions John had asked of him throughout breakfast. They were probing questions about Harry's past home life, schooling, and what had happened to his parents. Though Remus could not answer him fully, not knowing all of the facts, and being unable to share openly about magic, he was as open and honest with the man as he could be.

Through the pointed questions asked and the intensity of his own answers to Remus' equally probing questions about how Harry would fit into the Winchester family, he began to see that John was a loving, caring parent who had his sons' best interests at heart. He was by no means perfect and appeared rough around the edges, but Remus believed that Harry would find a fierce advocate in his biological father. It still pained him that Harry was not truly the son of his two best friends, but he was glad that Harry would have someone like John Winchester, hunter though he was, fighting in his corner.

"Why can't I see you off to the airport?" Harry asked as he walked Remus and Tonks out to the truck to say goodbye to the man he considered to be his best professor ever and a good friend. Bobby waited on the porch, giving them time and space in which to say goodbye.

"Harry," Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder and looked at the boy whose capacity to love had reminded him so much of Lily, "I think it's important that you get settled here, spend some time with your father and brothers."

"But when will I be able to see you again?" Harry tried in vain to keep the desperation from his voice. Remus and Tonks, his only links to the wizarding world aside from the wand in his pocket which he had sworn not to use, were about to leave. He didn't want to say goodbye. He wanted to keep them there with him.

"Harry," Remus pulled the boy he loved as a son into a fierce hug, "I promise that I will see you at the end of the summer."

He pulled away, grasping Harry's chin and raising it so that he could see into the clear depths of his green eyes, "Remember that, no matter what, I will always be here for you," he waited until Harry nodded, "and if anything happens, anything at all, I will only be a call away," the werewolf pressed a small metal box into Harry's hand urging him to take it, "use this to contact me in an emergency, all you need to do is hold it in your hand and ask for me, it will link me directly to you and I will come get you." Harry nodded again and pocketed the small box.

Remus had charmed it to act as a communication device for Harry in case there was an emergency and he needed to contact someone from the wizarding world. He didn't like the idea of Harry being left without a contingency of Order members looking out for him. Now that Voldemort was back and urging his Death Eaters to track down Harry Potter, Remus believed that, even though he was out of the country, he should have some magical protection. He knew that Harry would be looked in on from time to time by members of the Southwest Division of the Wizardry Investigatory Network, but did not trust that they would be able to keep Harry safe. He would feel better knowing that Harry had some way of contacting him should an emergency arise.

"Thank you," Harry whispered as Remus released his chin and the two pulled apart.

"Harry," Tonks smiled brightly at the pair and pulled out a big package wrapped in brown paper, "There are some gifts in here from Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mrs. Weasley, and strangely enough, there is even something in here from Professor Snape." She winked and smiled at the astonished look on Harry's face, before leaning in to whisper, "The package has been shrunk, but will expand as you open it, be sure to do that when others aren't looking." She gave the young man a quick hug and got into the cab of the truck.

"Harry, Professor Dumbledore would like me to remind you that you are not to do any magic while here, remember if there is an emergency you can contact me immediately by using that box I have given you. He also instructed me to remind you not to talk about magic around your family, I must emphasize that as well," Remus smiled grimly, "be sure to write, you can use the Muggle mail system I presume," Harry nodded, "Hermione would like you to call, her phone number is somewhere in that package. And Harry?" Harry looked at the werewolf warily, "Take care of yourself and try to have some fun."

As Remus turned to leave, Harry caught him by the sleeve, "Remus, could you give this to Snuffles?" He handed him a hastily wrapped package, "Tell him to…tell him that I miss him," Harry trailed off.

"I'll tell him," Remus waved as he got into the truck, tucking the small package in his pocket.

Bobby left the porch and, as he passed Harry, he patted him on the shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "Help yourself to any of the food that's in the kitchen whenever you're hungry," he said in passing. Harry looked up, startled, but Bobby was already past him as though he hadn't said a word.

Harry turned as the truck's engine roared to life and waved goodbye to Remus and Tonks from the front porch. Rumsfeld ambled up to him and sat at his feet. Both boys watched until the truck could no longer be seen. Harry reluctantly turned and entered his new home and Rumsfeld resumed his nap on the porch.


	12. Oh Brother

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

* * *

Oh Brother

"Boys," John addressed Sam and Dean as soon as Harry, Remus and Tonks left the house, "take a seat." He gestured toward the couch in the living room.

Clearing his throat, he paced in front of his sons, unsure of how best to explain the situation to them. He regretted not having told them of Harry's arrival ahead of time as Bobby had admonished. He'd have had time to prepare them and get them on board with keeping everything to do with the world of the supernatural from their new brother.

Dean already had some practice at it, having aided in keeping Sammy in the dark about it until John had deemed him old enough to join them on their hunts. Sammy, however, had not had as much practice with the art of subterfuge. Sure, he knew not to talk about what they did at school or to anyone outside of hunting, but John wasn't sure how he'd handle keeping the newest member of their family in the dark about the supernatural world. Taking a deep breath, he stood in front of his boys and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

Sammy was fidgeting with the edge of a ratty cushion, avoiding direct eye contact and Dean sat ramrod straight, eyes straight ahead, waiting for his Dad to speak. Though he had accepted his dad's explanation, there was still a lot he did not understand and he hoped to get some answers.

"Harry will be staying with us for the summer on a trial basis," John began. "He is your brother, and as such, I expect you to treat him respectfully." Dean's eyes hardened a bit and John saw his jaw twitch. He knew that Dean would not behave disrespectfully, but worried about how he was handling the information. It was a bit much for him to handle, it was bound to be difficult for his sixteen year old son.

"Now," John cleared his throat, "Harry didn't grow up the way you two did. He isn't a hunter and won't be going on hunts with us as I indicated earlier. Sammy," his son's head shot up to look at him, his eyes held a note of apprehension and John felt a tug at his heart, "we can't tell Harry what we do. He doesn't know about the supernatural world and we aren't going to tell him about it. Understand?" He waited until Sammy nodded before continuing.

"When I am called away on a 'business trip'," Dean squirmed in his seat and looked like he wanted to interrupt him, but John held a hand up and he sank back onto the couch, "Harry will be staying here with Bobby."

"Does that mean Sammy and I will still be going on trips?" Dean asked eagerly. He knew what his dad had said at breakfast, but worried that he had changed his mind.

"Yeah, on trips where I need more than one set of hands, and as I said earlier, ones which are closer to our summer home," John smiled as his eldest son visibly relaxed. He knew his eldest son enjoyed joining him on hunts and couldn't bring himself to deny him at least one thing he enjoyed doing and he always had his back. He was a good hunter, possibly better than himself.

"But we can't tell Harry the truth about where we are going and what we are doing?" Sammy questioned. He'd grown up lying to a lot of different people, and though he didn't like it, he knew that most of the people couldn't handle the truth of what he and his family fought against. He sometimes wished that he had grown up in a more 'normal' family and that he didn't know as much about the supernatural world as he did. He wondered how things would have been for him if it had been he, rather than Harry, who had been born to Lily and James Potter. Would life have been easier not growing up knowing the truth about things that go bump in the night?

"Right," John knelt down so he was eye-level with his youngest son, "it's for Harry's own good. He grew up without any knowledge of the things we know. It wouldn't' be fair to bring him into our world and it wouldn't be safe for him. He doesn't know how to do what we do. Maybe, if things work out, he can be trained to hunt as you and Dean have been, but…"

"He grew up normal Sammy," Dean interrupted with a half smile, "not like us. I mean, what do you think he'd do if he suddenly learned about half the things we've dealt with in the past year alone? I mean, he'd probably freak if he saw a ghost." He spoke flippantly and his voice held a note of annoyance.

"What about Uncle Bobby's books and stuff?" Sammy returned to picking at the tattered couch cushion, "Won't he wonder why there are so many books about supernatural stuff lying around?"

"All of the books have been moved to the den, which you boys will stay out of unless you have permission to enter," John fixed each boy with a steely look.

"Can I still read some of Uncle Bobby's books?" Sammy looked at his father, anxiety clearly evident on his face. Even though he didn't always like going on the hunts (he worried too much about Dean or his Dad getting hurt) he enjoyed learning about new things and researching some of the things they hunted.

"I'm sure that can be arranged, son," John smiled as Sammy seemed to breathe easier. He'd have to look into putting book covers on them or something.

"Good," Sammy sighed and leaned back into the couch as Dean rolled his eyes. _God forbid Sammy not be able to read something for any unspecified length of time. He might suffer from some sort of geek withdrawal syndrome or something, _Dean chuckled to himself.

"Okay, do we have an understanding boys?" John stood once again and resumed pacing in front of the couch.

"Yes sir," Dean answered automatically. Sammy's echoing response was a bit more subdued, but followed directly after Dean's. Though he didn't like the idea of keeping Harry in the dark about what they did, he understood why his dad was asking them to do it.

Satisfied that neither son would let anything about the supernatural world slip in Harry's presence, John ceased his pacing and turned toward the front door just as it opened. He watched warily as his newest son walked zombielike into the living room. _Damn the kid looked tired and haunted._

Sammy leaned over the back edge of the couch as Harry walked into the living room and watched as he wavered between walking past the living room and entering it.

"Harry why don't you join us in the living room?" John gestured toward the couch.

Harry's feet carried him into the lamp lit room seemingly of their own accord as he complied with John's, his dad's, request. He vaguely recalled having slept on the couch in the early hours of the morning and he sat on the edge of it with some hesitancy.

"So, what do you like to do?" Sammy twisted and peered into Harry's face as he sat stiffly on the couch next to him. Though it felt weird to have another older brother, he was really curious about him. He had a funky accent and dark hair that stuck out at odd angles like his and his dad's. _Dean's hair must be more like mom's_, Sammy mused.

"Huh?" Harry looked at Sammy and blinked as though seeing him for the first time. He held the nearly forgotten package in his lap. His mind was still on Remus and the world he would be returning to without him. He felt the odd metal box digging into his hip pocket and felt comforted knowing that at least he could 'call' Remus if something happened.

"Um, I like to…" He wasn't used to being asked what it was that he liked to do and really didn't have an answer outside of the wizarding world. The only thing that he really liked to do was flying and he couldn't exactly say that.

He never really got to do much during the summer months. Sometimes he was allowed to go to the park, but avoided it unless he knew for sure that Dudley and his gang were somewhere else. Threatening his cousin and Uncle Vernon with magic had also helped on occasion when he'd returned from Hogwarts that first year, but then the Dursleys found out that he was not supposed to use magic outside of school. After he had been punished severely for lying, his cousin and his gang had really gone after him.

Most of his summer days were spent doing chores around the house, things that his uncle, aunt, and cousin would rather not do, if he wasn't locked up in his room for some offense, that is. He wondered vaguely whether he would be assigned any chores here.

"Play w…err…chess," he choked out, coughing and blushing profusely at his near mistake. Dumbledore would not have been happy if he'd given away the fact that he was a wizard after little over twenty-four hours of being with his new family.

"Chess?" Dean looked at Harry as though he had grown two heads and rolled his eyes in his father's direction. Harry swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. _Great, _he thought, _my new older brother thinks I'm a geek and, judging by the look on his face, John…my father, agrees. Though I doubt if they'd feel the same way if they saw wizard's chess in action,_ he thought 's eyes, however, lit up, he'd learned to play chess at one of the schools he and Dean went to last year.

"I also like to…um…watch TV," he started hesitantly listing off things he would have liked to have been able to do had he been given the chance, "play video games…um, go to the park…how about you, what do you like to do?" He finished the last part in a nearly incomprehensible rush, certain that his brothers now thought of him as a complete moron.

"He's got too long of a list," Dean answered for his brother who glared murderously at him, "let's see…play with Barbie dolls, My Little Pony and…"

Sammy half-heartedly punched his older brother in the gut and, turning to Harry, said, "I _do not_, I like to read, watch TV…"

"I told you," Dean interrupted his little brother, moving just as Sammy threw another punch in his direction, and rolled his eyes at Harry, "he has a list a mile long." He stretched his arms out wide to illustrate his point while Sammy continued to glare at him.

"How about you? What do you like to do?" Harry stifled a yawn as he cast a sideways glance at his older brother. It was surrealistic to think of having an older brother and even more surrealistic to think of _himself _as an older brother. Were there certain things he was supposed to do as an older brother? Was there some sort of protocol to follow? It was too much to completely wrap his head around, and, at the moment, he wasn't up to trying.

He wondered if having brothers would be at all like it was at the Weasley's. He really had come to think of them as his family and Ron as his brother. The twins were like older, mischievous brothers who played pranks and taught him how to get away with breaking the rules, though he was not always as successful at that as they were as evidenced by the number of times he had wound up in detention. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he turned to listen to Dean's answer.

Not looking at Harry, Dean cocked his head to the side as though he were deep in thought and mumbled incoherently to himself. Harry wondered if he had asked the wrong question and studied the package sitting on his lap. He'd have to find a way to open it when no one else was around.

"Well," Dean began and Harry practically jumped at the unexpected voice, "I like to hunt, work on cars, and take romantic walks on the beach." He had ticked each off with a finger and turned to Harry with a smirk on his face as he said the last.

"Sammy, Dean," John cleared his throat and cast his eldest son a pointed look, "why don't you take Harry up to the room and get him settled? The three of you decide who's gonna sleep on which bed." John could see how uncomfortable Harry was. His grasp on the package he'd returned with was so tight that his knuckles were practically bone white. Dean's glib manner wasn't helping the situation at all. If anything, it seemed to be making Harry feel more ill-at-ease.

Harry couldn't stifle the next yawn. He was exhausted, but afraid to go to sleep or even close his eyes. Every time he blinked, he pictured what had happened at the cemetery not so long ago. He was afraid of what his father and brothers' reaction might be should he have a nightmare like he did when he was still living at his uncle's house on Privet Drive.

He recalled the last time he had awakened his uncle and aunt just a few days before Dumbledore had come for him. It hadn't been a pleasant experience and it was not something he wished to replicate in his new home. He vowed to do whatever he could to remain awake for as long as he could, hoping that if he was exhausted enough his mind wouldn't be able to dream.

He also did not want a repeat performance of what happened earlier when he'd first arrived at Bobby's. He had a fuzzy recollection of having wakened from a nightmare while sleeping on the couch. It would be embarrassing to have his new father witness a full on nightmare a second time in little under a twenty-four hour time span. He was sure the gruff man already thought of him as little more than a burden he had to put up with over the summer.

When none of the boys moved from the couch, John cleared his throat and tried again, "Dean, why don't you and Sammy go help get Harry settled?"

All three boys stood almost simultaneously and John couldn't hold back a chuckle at the site the three of them made. _Kind of like the three stooges_, he thought as he watched them leave the living room. Harry and Sammy were practically stepping on one another's feet while Dean, who'd started out in the rear had somehow managed to take the lead after almost tripping over both of his brothers in the process. If they weren't careful, they'd all end up sprawled in one big heap on the floor.

Shaking his head, stifling another laugh as he caught a glare from Dean, he stretched out on the couch. He laid back to get some rest, keeping an ear out for trouble. He wanted to give the boys a chance to get to know one another without his interference; he hoped that all three would remain unscathed.

* * *

"Why don't you take the bottom bunk?" Dean offered when Harry wavered on his feet at the foot of the extra bed Bobby had placed in the room just for Harry. It was a little lumpy and the bed on the bottom bunk was a bit more comfortable. Though Dean did _not _want to admit it to himself, he was already beginning to put Harry's needs before his own, just like he did with Sammy. He took Harry's suitcase off the bed he was reluctantly claiming as his own, and set it beneath the bottom bunk bed which Harry would now occupy for the summer.

"Yeah, and I'll take the top bunk," Sammy bounced on his heels as he reached up and pulled himself onto the top bunk without using the side ladder. He reminded Harry of a monkey.

"'S okay," Harry mumbled, not fully aware of where he was or what he was saying, "used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs." He yawned widely and rubbed at his eyes. Dean looked up sharply as he carefully guided Harry over to the bed and set him down on it.

The kid, though only a year and a half younger than himself, was dark-haired like Sammy, skinny, and small for his age and he looked dead tired on his feet. The clothes he wore didn't fit him right. They were tattered and torn and at least four sizes too big. They looked like hand-me-downs from Frankenstein. Dean wasn't sure if the cupboard comment was real or part of some strange waking dream the kid was having, so he filed it away as something to ask when Harry was fully awake and maybe something he would ask his Dad about when he was able to get him alone.

Harry was practically asleep on his feet as Dean pulled the package from his hands and placed it on top of the covers. "Maybe you should lie down and get some sleep, we'll get you up in time for lunch, won't we Sammy?" Dean looked up at his younger brother who was hanging upside down over the edge of the bunk bed, his dark hair flying in every direction.

Harry shook his head and attempted to stand, but Dean was blocking him. There was no way he was going to take a nap. Not only was it something that only babies and little kids did, but he knew that he was bound to have a nightmare and he just wasn't ready to face another one so soon after the last. A panicked thought struck him and he breathed in sharply, _How on earth am I going to keep from waking my brothers with my nightmares when we share the same room_? _Maybe I can sneak out onto the porch again…_

He suddenly felt queasy. Dean was looking at him, almost as though he were some sort of puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. No, he wouldn't be taking a nap. Dean already thought little of him; he didn't want to add fuel to the fire. He didn't want Dean to think of him as a sniveling baby as well. Then he really wouldn't want him as a brother.

"I think I should try to get on local time," Harry offered by way of explanation when it looked like Dean was going to protest.

"You know, get over jetlag. I think I heard somewhere that when traveling you should stay awake during the day and go to bed at a regular time and there was something about taking a walk," Harry stifled a yawn. He was citing, nearly word-for-word, something that Hermione had told him once about when she and her family had gone on a trip overseas.

He hoped that it would work and worried for a moment that it wouldn't as Dean had a skeptical look on his face. He tried, in vain, not to yawn. The bed looked so inviting; all he would have to do is lie back and sleep would be sure to claim him. Instead, he stood, nearly hitting his head on the bottom of the upper bunk. Willing himself not to topple over, he reached a hand out to steady himself as Sammy flipped out of the upper bunk and landed swiftly on his feet in front of him.

"Hey Dean," Sammy swiveled on the spot, making Harry dizzy. "We could show Harry around Bobby's place!" The eagerness in his voice was almost too much for Harry to handle, but he smiled and nodded his head as enthusiastically as he could without losing his balance.

"I'd really like a tour of the place. It would help me get acclimated," he shared a grateful smile with Sammy and held tightly to the bedpost to keep upright.

"We could show him the creek in the back and the tire swing and all of the cool cars in Uncle Bobby's junkyard," Sammy was shifting from foot to foot in excitement. He was already picturing what he wanted to show Harry: _the big black tire that would creak as it swung in the wind, the tree he'd secretly wanted to build a fort in, the creek where Dean and he had sometimes swum, the old-fashioned, plank built boxcar in which he'd once spent the night when he'd been mad at Dean and he'd wanted to sleep under the stars, and there was just so much more that he wanted to show Harry. Where to begin?_

Harry's dizziness grew at Sammy's increased enthusiasm. The younger boy's smile grew and Harry wondered if he had made the right decision. Maybe he should take a nap after all. His lower back twinged in pain as he attempted to straighten to his full height. He smiled bravely, but feared he was failing to conceal his pain and that his facial expression was more akin to a grimace. He hoped Dean and Sammy wouldn't notice.

Dean eyed Harry dubiously. The kid looked like he'd fall flat on his face if he wasn't holding onto the bed for support. He also looked as though he were in pain. He wondered once again what it was that the kid was hiding.

Shaking his head, he looked from Harry to Sammy. They both held twin smiles, though Harry's was slightly less ebullient than Sammy's. They were both looking at him with puppy dog eyes and he found himself caving. It was hard enough to resist Sammy, and Dean's heart sunk as he realized that, when tag-teamed with Harry, they were going to a force to be reckoned with. He hoped he could handle the challenge of managing both boys. _It was only for the summer, right?_

He'd have to build up a resistance. It wouldn't do for them to think he could be so easily manipulated. He shuddered at the thought of both of his younger brothers twisting him around their pinky fingers. _Damn._ Though he didn't think it was the wisest course of action, Dean sighed and nodded in agreement to the plan.

"Fine, let's go," Dean said a little more harshly than he'd meant to. Harry's subtle flinch did not go unnoticed, but Dean chose to ignore it for the time being. He had a lot of questions for his newest brother and he was going to get answers, one way or another. Turning his back on his brothers in self-recrimination, he led the way out of the bedroom with Sammy following close behind him and Harry trailing a little further back.

"Um…" Harry cleared his voice, "do you mind if I, uh, use the…" he tipped his head in the direction of the bathroom when Dean and Sammy turned in his direction.

"Sure," Dean shrugged before once again heading toward the stairs, "see you downstairs." _That is if you make it down the stairs without passing out_, he thought wryly to himself as he shook his head in disbelief at how stubborn the newest Winchester was. _I'll give the kid five minutes before I have to lug his ass back upstairs and put him to bed. _That inward thought made him smile. _Let them think they can get the best of me; they'll learn that their big brother is always right in the end._

"I'll wait for you here," Sammy leaned against the wall opposite the bathroom. He waved Dean ahead.

"That won't be necessary," Harry felt himself blushing in embarrassment and slightly in anger.

"That's okay, I gotta go too," Sammy slid along the wall to the floor until he was sitting, stationed directly across from the bathroom door, much to Harry's growing annoyance.

"I'll hurry," Harry rushed into the bathroom closing it firmly behind him. He wasn't sure why it bothered him that his younger brother was positioned outside the bathroom door waiting for him. _Did Ron experience the same feelings with his siblings?_ He'd have to find a way to ask him some of these questions without it becoming too awkward for the both of them. _Hey Ron, do you ever get mad at Ginny when you're using the loo and she is pacing outside the door waiting?_ He snorted as he imagined Ron's red-faced reply, knowing that the question itself would embarrass his best friend.

"It's okay, take your time!" Sammy hollered after him.

After relieving himself, Harry leaned his head against the mirror. It felt cool against his forehead and he closed his eyes relishing how soothing the cool surface felt. If he wasn't careful he'd fall asleep right then and there, head propped against the glassy surface of the mirror, hands straddling the sink. Reluctantly, he pushed away from the mirror and splashed cold water on his face.

He rarely looked at himself in the mirror, but took the opportunity to do so now. What he saw shocked him slightly, though he didn't know why. His eyes were sunken, dark circles seemed to swallow them. His cheeks were hollow and he poked at them in detached curiosity. In the garish light that flooded the bathroom, he appeared deathly pale even to himself. He splashed more cold water on his face and marveled at how feverish he felt. It hadn't been that long since he'd showered, how could his appearance have altered so drastically in just a few short hours?

Turning off the water, he backed away from the sink and averted his bloodshot eyes from the all too revealing mirror. Turning slightly, he reached around and pulled up his hoodie and tee-shirt, revealing his battered back. Wincing in pain, he prodded at the welts. _Had they grown redder since this morning? _They felt hot to the touch and Harry bit back a hiss of agony.

* * *

Sammy really had to go to the bathroom and had been patiently waiting for Harry who'd promised to be quick. He didn't know how much time had passed, but it seemed like it was taking a bit too long. He really had to go and didn't know how much longer he could hold it in, but didn't want to rush his new brother. He knew that, though Dean would scold him, his big brother would not be too upset if he walked in on him. He wondered if Harry would feel the same way though. Maybe he would get really angry at him and yell at him or maybe he wouldn't like him. He couldn't tell if Harry liked him yet or not. He worried that his brother might not like him at all and didn't want to give him something else to not like about him, so he continued to wait as patiently as he could outside the bathroom door.

When he heard the toilet flush, he sighed in relief and stood. He heard water running in the sink and felt some relief when it turned off, but started to grow concerned when Harry still hadn't emerged from the bathroom. _What could be taking him so long?_

He paced in front of the closed door, debating whether or not he should knock and ask if Harry was finished or continue to wait. _Would his brother become annoyed with him or feel he was being disrespectful if he knocked?_

Placing an ear against the door, hoping that it wouldn't suddenly open causing him to fall into the bathroom and putting him in an embarrassing situation, he listened using his hunter sharpened senses. What he heard startled him and caused him to act on instinct.

Harry was so focused on examining the welts that he did not notice when the door to the bathroom edged open or the head that popped in, or even the startled gasp that was drowned by his own groan of pain as his vision swam into and out of focus. He wasn't aware of his younger brother's presence until Sammy's panicked face hovered above his own. _When had Sammy come in? How did I end up on the bathroom floor?_

He attempted to raise his head, but, much to his consternation, Sammy pushed him gently back. "Don't try to move." Sammy's voice held a hard edge to it, but it sounded as though it were coming to him through a tunnel. Harry blinked in the dim light, trying to make sense of what had happened and why he was sprawled out on the floor.

"Stay here, I'll go get Dad," Sammy was saying. Panicked, Harry reached a hand up and grasped Sammy's arm, surprising the younger boy with the strength of his grip.

"No," Harry pleaded. "Please don't." He smiled weakly in an attempt to ease some of the worry he saw etched on the his brother's pale face.

"I'm fine, really," he rose up on his elbows, ignoring the burning sensation in his lower back.

"No you're not," Sammy's lips were pursed tight in a grim line of determination.

"I," Harry thought for a moment, "I was just exhausted, I'll be fine. Please don't go get your Dad."

Sammy cocked his head to the side as he looked at his brother. "He's your Dad too," he said determinedly, "and he'll want to get a look at your back." Sammy felt as though something fishy were going on and wondered what it was that Harry was trying to hide.

_Damn, Sammy'd seen the marks. _"Look Sam," Harry fought down the panic that threatened to overtake him. He knew that he would need to remain calm if he wanted to convince his brother that he was okay and that he didn't need to get their father involved. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he didn't want John to know about what Uncle Vernon had done to him.

It hadn't been his fault, but he was still ashamed by what had happened. Or maybe it had been his fault. He wasn't sure anymore. He just knew that he didn't want anyone else to know about it, there was no reason for anyone else to know and besides, he didn't have to go back there, yet anyway. It was far too humiliating and painful. He didn't want to talk about it and knew that he'd be forced to talk about it if the marks were revealed to one of the adults.

"You can't tell your Dad," Harry struggled to sit up, but Sammy's weight continued to pin him in place.

"You're hurt," Sammy bit his bottom lip as he pondered what he had seen. He knew that his back had to be painful and couldn't understand why Harry insisted on keeping it a secret from their dad.

"I'll be fine," Harry insisted as Sammy finally helped him up into a sitting position. Both boys sat with their backs against the wall, Harry mindful of the sores on his lower back.

"How'd it happen?" Sammy had tried puzzling out what the marks on Harry's back meant when he'd first glimpsed them before Harry had passed out and crumpled to the bathroom floor. He'd wracked his brain for where he'd seen such marks before and couldn't come up with anything plausible outside of the supernatural.

_Had his new brother come into contact with a poltergeist or a wraith? Or maybe some vengeful spirit? Maybe Dad was wrong about Harry not knowing anything of the supernatural world. _

"It was an accident," Harry quickly claimed. He had no idea how he was going to explain the 'accident'. _How exactly does one explain away belt marks? _Harry studied the back of his hands as if they held the answer he was looking for.

"Doesn't look like an accident to me," Sammy retorted skeptically, casting a sidelong glance at Harry.

Harry let out a shaky breath, "Sam…Sammy?" He looked sideways at the younger boy.

"You just can't tell your Dad," Harry finished lamely, "please."

"Why not?" Sammy's voice had a steel edge to it, "And he's your Dad too," he insisted once again. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, it bothered him that Harry kept saying, '_your Dad'_ rather than just, _'Dad'_.

"Because," _great answer, that'll really convince him,_ "I don't want him to worry, and besides, it doesn't really hurt," Harry lied easily.

He'd grown up lying about the aches and pains he'd received at the hands of the Dursley's: _Oh no, I'm fine Ms. Adamson, I just fell down the stairs_ – or – _I wasn't watching where I was going and accidentally walked into a door, it doesn't really hurt. I'll be fine, don't worry about me. I'll be sure to tell my aunt to take me to the doctor, Mrs. Figg. No, really, there's no need to worry, I'll be fine. I'm always fine. _The lies swirled around in his mind at vertiginous speeds, creating an absurd circus-like scenario.

"Bull," Sammy cast a hard, discerning look at him. Harry couldn't hold the piercing gaze and lowered his eyes. The backs of his hands really were rather fascinating even if they didn't hold the answers he was searching for.

"Seriously, I'm fine," Harry cleared his throat hoping to convince his younger brother that he spoke the truth; it had worked with countless others before.

"Then how come you fainted?" Sammy shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't understand why Harry was so afraid of him telling their Dad about the marks on his back. _Did he have something to hide? _He was sure that Harry was lying about them not hurting, they looked painful and, if he wasn't mistaken, the wounds were infected.

He'd witnessed infected wounds on both his brother and father; he'd had his own as well and recalled a time not too long ago when he too had foolishly decided not to tell his Dad about an injury. Not only had he been scolded, but he'd become so sick he felt like he was dying. He'd almost had to go to the hospital and had to take antibiotics.

"Look, I'm just tired," Harry tried to sound convincing, "I had a long flight from London and haven't been sleeping all that well. I think it was just the lack of sleep catching up with me." He yawned for effect, hoping that it would help convince Sammy that he was speaking the truth.

"Harry, I think we should tell Dad," Sammy sighed. He didn't like the idea of lying to his father, though he also didn't want to push his new brother too hard either. He kind of looked like he was ready to pass out again.

"Don't tell, please," Harry begged. His tired eyes met Sammy's narrowed ones. He really didn't know what he would do if Sammy insisted on telling their father. He was exhausted and sore and just wanted the day to be over or the past two days to have been a fabrication of his imagination.

Maybe it was all just some terrible dream, though he didn't relish the thought of waking up from it and still being in the care of the Dursleys. He honestly didn't know which would be worse: finding out that everything had been an elaborate dream created by his overwrought mind and waking up on Privet Drive or having John Winchester find out about the sores on his back.

"I'll be fine, I promise. There's no reason to worry you…er Dad," Harry spoke as calmly and rationally as he could, hoping that it would help defuse the situation and keep Sammy from rushing down the stairs to notify the elder Winchester.

Realizing that he was getting nowhere with Harry, Sammy let out an exasperated sigh, and decided to use a tactic Dean had often used on him. Quirking his lips up in imitation of his big brother's best 'devil-may-care' expression, he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Fine, I won't tell Dad, as long as you tell him yourself," Sammy issued the challenge and watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. Mimicking Dean, he quirked an eyebrow and shrugged as though he didn't care whether or not Harry chose to tell their dad.

He stood and held a hand out to Harry who took it and bit his bottom lip in what Sammy recognized as pain as he was pulled to his feet. "So, we got a deal?" Sammy affected an aloof attitude, inwardly steeling himself.

Harry shrugged in response. He wasn't sure that he liked the terms, but was willing to take whatever he could get. Maybe Sammy would forget all about what he had seen as the day progressed and John Winchester would be none the wiser.

He didn't understand why Sammy was so insistent on alerting his father to the condition of his back in the first place. He'd been through worse and managed just fine, on his own. He didn't need anyone else to look out for him and was suddenly beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic.

_Why does Sammy care so much? He just met me. Why didn't anyone else care about me before now? Why couldn't someone have cared when it mattered most? Why hadn't anyone cared when I'd been forced to sleep in a cramped, dark cupboard? Why hadn't anyone cared when I'd nursed my first black eye or cried myself to sleep as a toddler?_ Tears, completely unbidden, pricked the back of his eyes, but he forced them back and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"I won't tell Dad, but you have to tell him yourself," Sammy said firmly and held out his hand once more. Harry took it awkwardly, bewildered for a moment until he realized that he was meant to shake it in agreement.

Nodding his head, he called upon the courage he'd used to face Voldemort and shook Sammy's hand, sealing the agreement. He was already working on a way to get out of it. He'd play along and bide his time until Sammy forgot all about it.

He drew nervous fingers through his hair as he brushed past Sammy. On his way out, he nearly collided with Dean who stood in the open doorway, staring at his brothers with an indecipherable look on his face.

Harry gulped as he looked up at the taller boy through smudged glasses. Just how much had the older boy heard? He doubted that Dean would be easily swayed and prayed that he hadn't been listening in on the entire conversation. His heart skipped a beat as Dean made no attempt to move out of his way.

Dean's gaze drilled into both Sammy and Harry as he stood in the doorway, effectively blocking Harry's only mode of escape.

"What's going on in here? Brotherly bonding in the bathroom? You two sharing secret beauty tips on how to keep your hair shiny and silky? What, are you two planning a slumber party tonight? I'll bring the bonbons and we can give each other manicures." Though Dean's voice was light and teasing, Harry thought he heard a hard edge to it. There was no mistaking the hardness in the green eyes which met his.

Sammy, seemingly unaware of his oldest brother's menacing tone and glare, stuck his tongue out at him and immodestly turned to take care of what he'd entered the room to do in the first place. Finished, he washed his hands in the sink and stared pointedly at Dean when he was ready to leave. Only then did the bigger boy move out of the way, enabling Harry to finally emerge from the confines of the bathroom.

He skirted around the imposing figure of the eldest Winchester brother and hastily made his way down the stairs, wishing he had chosen to take a nap, nightmares be damned. Dealing with his brothers was beginning to be more of a hassle than it was worth.

"Hold up Sammy," Dean called after his brother as he made his way down the hallway. Sammy halted mid-step and spun around, careful not to look his older brother in the eye. Dean had heard something and from the sound of his voice, he wasn't too happy about what he had heard.

Dean rested a hand on his brother's shoulder and waited until he looked up at him. Sammy was squirming uncomfortably; Dean knew it'd be easy to get the answers he wanted from him. All he'd have to do is apply a little guilt to the situation and Sammy'd spill whatever it was that he and Harry were trying to hide from their dad. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good, and he'd rather not have their dad angry at them.

"So, what are you two keeping from Dad?" He put just the right amount of big brother patented guilt-inducing charm into his inflection and waited for Sammy to talk.


	13. My Brother's Secret Keeper Part I

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue

**A/N: **This is a story about family bonding involving an abused child and I don't want to make light of these issues, so please don't expect things to move at an unrealistic pace. Please remember that this story is AU.

* * *

My Brother's Secret Keeper Part I

Previously: _"So, what are you two keeping from Dad?" He put just the right amount of big brother patented guilt-inducing charm into his inflection and waited for Sammy to talk._

"Nothing," Sammy, refusing to look Dean in the eye, stared at the tops of his sneakers, hoping that his big brother would drop it, but knowing that he probably wouldn't. Dean was like a tenacious bulldog, he didn't let anything drop, ever. He wished that his voice had come out a little stronger than it had and that Dean would stop staring at him. It felt like his big brother was trying to bore holes into him and he was worried that he'd cave under Dean's intense scrutiny.

Truth was, he kind of liked having another brother to share a secret with and he didn't want to break Harry's trust either. Though he had promised his new brother that he wouldn't tell their father, he knew that Harry would view his telling Dean the same way, it would be a betrayal of trust. For some reason he sensed that Harry's trust was not an easy thing to earn and would be next to impossible to restore if he broke it.

"Come on, Sammy, tell me what you and Harry were talking about," Dean placed a hand on Sammy's shoulder and smiled as Sammy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was a sure sign that he'd soon be spilling his guts, that and the way his little brother bit his bottom lip. He squeezed Sammy's shoulder and waited patiently, knowing that it was mostly a matter of waiting with his kid brother. The kid really was terrible at keeping things from him.

"Can't," Sammy shuffled his feet and shot a quick look at his older brother. He shrugged out of Dean's grasp and scooted past him and rushed down the stairs before Dean could catch up with him. For some reason his heart was hammering in his chest with the effort it had taken him not to tell Dean what he'd discovered on Harry's back.

So, they _were_ hiding something from Dad and now from him. Dean would get to the bottom of it, of that he was sure. He had years of practice at manipulating Sammy and was an expert at knowing what it took to break him. He'd simply bide his time and work his big brother magic, it was bound to work. Harry, on the other hand, he had no idea what it took to break him, but he was bound and determined to find out. It would not be good to have his two younger brothers collaborating and keeping things from him. How was he going to protect them if they did that?

Harry watched warily as his new brothers descended the stairs. He caught the scowl on Dean's face directed toward Sammy and his heart soared a bit, perhaps his little brother hadn't told Dean what he'd seen on his back after all. He'd been almost certain that the kid would. He had promised not to tell their dad, but had not promised not to tell Dean. Harry instinctively knew that telling Dean would be almost as bad as telling their dad, if not worse. He didn't want his new big brother to think he was a weak little kid incapable of caring for himself. Besides, he was certain that his back would heal all by itself and that the itchiness and flaming pain would go away on its own.

He swallowed the lump of fear that had formed in his throat when he caught Dean staring at him. The older boy's glare was almost as bad as Snape's and that was saying something. Suddenly very nervous, he looked away. Dean's eyes, pools of dark green which mirrored his own, were narrowed and the muscles in his jaw twitched as he continued to glare in his direction. Though he was no longer looking at the older boy, he could feel those penetrating eyes on him.

He felt as though twin holes were being burned into the back of his head and that Dean was trying to see into his very thoughts. Anxious, he began to shift from one foot to the other. He looked up only to find that Dean's eyes were still on him and that they had a calculated look to them. _Damn but Dean was intimidating._

Would living with his brothers leave him constantly feeling as though he were on the edge of some emotional precipice? The look Dean was giving him was scathing and challenging and he wavered beneath it, ready to confess to just about anything just so that the older boy would take his censorious eyes off of him.

He edged his way through the living room, past the still figure of John, his father, lying on the couch. He didn't want to wake him, afraid that Sammy would take the opportunity to prod him into telling the man what he'd seen. He wanted to draw it out for as long as he could. Besides, it was none of their business anyway. What had happened at the Dursleys could stay at the Dursleys as far as he was concerned. It didn't need to taint his new life.

Harry blinked and his breath caught in his throat as he realized, for the first time in the over forty-eight hours since this whole fiasco had started with Dumbledore turning his life topsy-turvy, that he had, in essence, a new life. He was not Harry James Potter any more. Hell, he didn't even know who he really was. Though he reasoned that perhaps these were thoughts inspired by sleep-deprivation, he relished the prospect of what that could mean for him.

He could, if he really wanted to, become someone completely different. Sure, he still had the name he'd been born with and he still had the scar that Voldemort had cursed him with and he still had the memories of all that had happened in his fourteen years of life, but as of right now he could put all of that behind him and become a wholly different Harry.

"Boys," John's voice startled Harry from his thoughts and he flinched as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. Dean's eyes were on him once more, looking over his thin frame with an intensity that had Harry squirming and looking hurriedly away. He studiously fidgeted with the ragged edge of his shirt.

"Yes sir?" Dean's voice was sharp and much too close for Harry's liking. He looked out of the corner of his eye; Dean, taut and standing almost at attention, was only an inch away from him. Sammy was on the other side of their mutual big brother. The younger boy caught his eye and gave him a brief reassuring smile which Harry returned.

"Don't go too far, I want you back in a couple hours," John said past a yawn. He was sitting up on the couch now, watching all three of the boys for confirmation that they had heard what he'd said and would comply with his wishes. First Dean, then Sammy and finally Harry, who was glancing sideways at the other two boys, nodded in turn.

"Bobby should be back soon. I expect you to help him get lunch ready and behave yourselves. Stay out of trouble. Is that understood?" He was tired and knew that his voice had come out a little more harshly than what he'd intended, but he knew that Dean and Sammy would understand.

"Yes sir," it was spoken so softly that John wasn't sure whether he had heard Harry speak or not. John looked curiously at the boy who'd become his responsibility less than twelve hours ago and wondered at the timorous tone and the address. In the short time that he had been here, Harry had yet to address him directly and he found himself wondering when, if ever, Harry would call him something other than 'sir' and if more direct addresses would be forthcoming.

His heart constricted a bit at the thought that his son might never feel comfortable enough to call him Dad. A vision of Mary's disapproving frown flashed in his mind and he shook his head to clear it. He would do his best to ease some of Harry's discomfort with him when he had some sleep and a clear head.

"Dean?" John swept his gaze to his eldest son whose eyes were glued to Harry. The older boy, flanked on either side by Harry and Sammy, looked as though he were trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle.

"Sir?" John sighed, wishing for once that Dean would address him in a less militaristic manner. How was Harry ever going to learn to address him less formally if Dean never did?

"You take care of your brothers. Make sure they don't get into any trouble and keep them safe." He exhaled exasperatedly.

"Yes sir. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on these two," Dean leaned toward him and smirked, jerking his thumb in the direction of either brother.

"Good," John raked a tired hand through his hair causing it to stand up on end. "Sammy?" He had yet to hear anything from his youngest son, and though he was aware that he was being rather redundant, he wanted to have an assurance from each of the boys that they'd heard him and were going to be on their best behavior. It wouldn't do to wear out their welcome at Bobby's place before their stay had truly begun.

"We'll be fine. Just go to sleep Dad," Sammy assured his father, rolling his eyes, and for once, John was grateful for his cheeky tone. Maybe, if he didn't go ballistic on his youngest son, Harry would become more at ease with him. Gritting his teeth against the ready rebuke on his lips, he smiled grimly and waved his hand in the direction of the door.

"Have fun boys," he called out as they made their way toward the door. Waiting until they left, he settled down on the couch and shut his eyes to catch a few hours of sleep, knowing that Dean would watch out for them.

"Okay," Dean addressed the two younger boys who were walking on either side of him, "here's how this is going to work," the bossy manner in which the older boy spoke reminded Harry of Dudley and he shook his head in mild disbelief at having allowed himself to think that things would be different, that he could begin a new life here.

He'd known that things had been too good to be true, had wanted to pinch himself when Bobby had told him he could help himself to food whenever he was hungry or when Sammy had asked him what he liked to do. Thus far everything, aside from his blubbering and Sammy finding out about his back, had gone remarkably well. He'd found the Winchesters and Bobby to be different in their treatment of him than the Dursleys, even if they hadn't been readily accepting of him. It had been nice, fleeting though it was, to be something other than a freak or a victim of his uncle's wrath or his cousin's brutal teasing.

"You are going to tell me what it is that you're hiding from Dad, or we are going to march right back into that house and I'm going to tell him that you're keeping something from him," Dean's voice was stern and he had stopped walking. Not quite knowing why, Harry and Sammy had stopped walking as well. They stood in an inelegant line a few feet away from the front porch.

Unbidden, Rumsfeld lumbered over to the brotherly trio and plopped down on his haunches beside Harry. He cocked his head in Dean's direction, scrutinizing him curiously as Harry dug his fingers almost painfully into his short fur. The boy next to him tensed and his hackles bristled as he sensed the panic and abject terror endemic within the boy. He issued a low growl of warning, aimed at the boy standing rigid in the middle, and licked Harry's hand comfortingly. Harry eased his grip on his fur and both boy and dog relaxed marginally.

"Drop it Dean," Sammy was the first to break the silence. He could see that Harry was tense and uncomfortable and knew that he wasn't used to the way that Dean did things. He was afraid that Dean would scare Harry off.

"We aren't keeping anything from Dad. Besides, it's none of your business anyway." He jutted his chin stubbornly, hoping that Dean would just let it go. He wanted to show Harry around Bobby's place and didn't want his new brother to hate them before he really got to know them. "You're being such a jerk," he couldn't keep the angry words from slipping from his mouth. Sammy really wanted to get to know Harry and he wanted the older boy to like him and Dean was messing up everything. He hadn't been nice to Harry once this morning and he didn't think it was fair.

"Fine," Dean ground out between clenched teeth. Fists held tightly by his side, the muscle in his jaw jerked slightly and he started off at a brisk walk, leaving a slightly startled Sammy and Harry behind. Both younger boys clamored to catch up, Rumsfeld keeping close to Harry's side.

"But if this is something that I get into any trouble over for not knowing," he turned abruptly to face both boys who stopped in their tracks, almost having toppled into the older boy. He shoved an angry hand through his hair, exhaling noisily. "You'll both pay for it." Dean regretted his heated words the second they were out of his mouth as he caught a look of mild dismay in Harry's eyes.

Harry swallowed convulsively. His hands shook as he reached to bury his fingers in Rumsfeld's fur, reassuring himself that he was not alone, that the dog and maybe even Sammy was on his side. He chanced a look at the other boy out of the corner of his eye and what he saw shocked him and eased some of his mounting tension.

Sammy was practically vibrating with anger. His lips were drawn in a tight line and his hands were fisted at his side as he planted his feet and squared his shoulders to face his older brother head on. "This has nothing to do with you," the youngest Winchester's voice was low and gravelly. "It is between Harry and me and you need to back the hell off!"

"Watch your language," Dean barked the order out almost automatically. Not that he didn't have a potty mouth himself, but he was a bit taken aback at Sammy's apparent anger toward him and knew that their father didn't approve of them swearing, though the eldest Winchester certainly didn't lead by example in that particular area. It was more of a 'do as I say and not as I do' situation. Dean was so thrown off by his brother's refusal to comply with his demands and his aberrant swearing, that he found himself copying his father's hypocritical admonition without much thought.

At the moment he felt like he was doing some major backpedaling. He'd miscalculated the situation tremendously, had used a threat when he should have tried coaxing. He had terrified his new brother and incensed Sammy. Things had gone terribly wrong and he suddenly felt way out of his element. He was no longer in control of the situation and that scared the crap out of him. He, as Sammy's and now Harry's, big brother, needed to be in control at all times. His Dad counted on him to keep Sammy safe and now that Harry was here, the scope of his responsibility had shifted to include the other boy as well. _Crap._

"Just back the hell off Dean," Sammy's voice almost matched their father's when he gave them an immutable order that neither boy would dare disobey from the tone alone. It was usually reserved for hunts in which an act of noncompliance could lead to severe injury or even death. It was unnerving to hear that same tone issued from his visibly enraged younger brother who was normally the most laid back Winchester of them all.

Dean involuntarily took a step back, his own anger dissipating in the face of Sammy's. Neither boy was aware of Harry's intake of breath nor that the boy had all but ceased to breathe as he watched them intently. He'd taken Dean's threat at face value and had twisted it even further, having past experiences which clouded his understanding of big brotherly threats which were rarely acted upon. He was lost, momentarily, in memories of Dudley and his gang pounding on him or Uncle Vernon giving him a sound hiding and was only barely aware that he was no longer there.

Dean, noticing through the haze of his dissolving anger and loss of control, that Harry had grown oddly quiet, almost as if the boy were no longer breathing, narrowed his eyes at the boy who was much too pale and expelled a worried breath. He instinctually reached out for Harry, realizing that he'd inadvertently frightened him, but the boy flinched away from him as though he'd been slapped. He raised dilated eyes up to him and scrambled away out of his reach. His green eyes were bright with apprehension and his breathing came out in frightened gasps. Rumsfeld intuitively placed himself between Dean, the perceived threat, and Harry.

"Dean, you're such a fucking jerk," Sammy swore at him and Dean's eyes were torn from Harry's. He looked in shock at his younger brother, who'd never, to his knowledge, spoken that word before. It wasn't as though Sammy had never been exposed to the word or others like it, he'd heard it often enough in his twelve years of life that it should probably have found its way out of his mouth well before now, but for some reason the youngest Winchester rarely swore. It took a lot to unsettle him and apparently Dean had crossed whatever line had been pre-established in his twelve-year-old brother's mind as acceptable behavior on his big brother's part. It was unnerving.

Holding his hands out in a placating manner, Dean stepped back slowly. He knew that he'd lost this particular battle and knew it was time to back down. Harry was in obvious distress, Rumsfeld had taken on a protective stance and Sammy was approaching the newest Winchester with deliberate, careful steps.

"Harry," he spoke calmly. When there was no answer, he took a deep breath and tried again, a little louder, "Harry." Harry's green eyes, awash with slowly diminishing panic, met his and he gave him what he hoped would be a bolstering smile. To his relief, Harry returned his smile with a terse one of his own before looking down in embarrassment. His cheeks reddened immediately and he shuffled his feet.

"Harry," Sammy waited until Harry's eyes met his once more before speaking, "Dean's just being a jerk. He didn't mean what he said; he just doesn't like being left in the dark, feels it's his 'big brotherly duty' to stick his nose in where it doesn't belong." He cast a scathing look at the oldest Winchester boy who looked away sheepishly. Dean was mildly impressed with the way Sammy was handling the situation and covering over his mistakes.

Locking his eyes with Harry's, Sammy licked his lips, trying to decide upon the right words to ease his brother's obvious unease.

"Look," it was Dean who broke the silence and Harry's eyes, wide with trepidation, met his. Much to Dean's vast relief, Harry relaxed almost visibly; whatever he'd seen in his own green eyes had broken through to him and helped ease his worry. He noted with some satisfaction that the other boy was breathing much less laboriously and that some color had returned to his pallid features.

"I'm sorry, I didn't really mean what I said," for some reason he felt compelled to apologize, something he'd never done much of before, "I would never hurt you or Sammy." He jerked his head in his brother's direction. "I…I just…" he let out a harsh breath, "I'm worried about whatever it is you two are keeping from Dad," he finished off in one long exasperated breath. In his past experiences, secrets Sammy had kept from him or his Dad never boded well.

Harry quickly looked away from the speculative look Dean was giving him. He felt foolish and ashamed. How many times had he managed to make himself look weak and ineffectual in front of his new family? He had lost count, actually probably didn't have enough digits to count how many times he'd managed to look like a baby in front of them.

He'd faced far greater problems in his life and yet, an angry older brother had managed to reduce him to a sniveling mess by expressing anger at his keeping something from him. It was ridiculous. He had nothing to be afraid of; it wasn't as though Dean were Voldemort or a fire breathing dragon or some mindless Death Eater. He didn't know why all of this had him feeling so frightened and small. He didn't know why his family had him feeling so displaced and sensitive all of a sudden. It made no sense to him. He was such an emotional mess and there was no reason for it that he could comprehend.

"There's nothing to worry about," Harry spoke tightly and with renewed resolve. He was done being afraid. He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and had defeated one of the most feared wizards of all time, not just once, but twice. He'd bested a demented Voldemort diehard and endured the most scathing looks that his most hated professor delivered without so much as a flinch, most of the time. Surely he could manage to live with his Muggle family and not cringe like a coward every five minutes.

Never mind that all of his past summers were filled with memories of suffering humiliation and pain at the hands of the only Muggle role models he had ever had, the Dursleys. It was hard for him to resolve the two worlds, that of the wizarding, where he was treated as a renowned hero, and that of the Muggle world where his aunt, uncle, and cousin treated him as little better than a naughty house elf who needed to learn his place.

He was both Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and Harry Potter, the unwanted, unloved orphan foisted upon his longsuffering family. It was enough to give him whiplash just thinking about it. But he was done with it. The Muggle and Wizarding worlds be damned, he was no longer going to kowtow to their demands. He was going to change who he was and this was the perfect opportunity for him.

He met Dean's look unwaveringly. "I just asked Sammy not to tell John that I was tired and had almost fallen asleep in the bathroom," he lied easily, sending a surreptitious look in Sammy's direction. His eyes pleaded with the younger boy to corroborate his story and, though the other boy frowned, he was rewarded with a slight nod. Sammy would not be revealing his secret to Dean.

He didn't know why he lied to Dean, but felt that if he told him the truth the older boy would not hesitate to inform his father. He doubted he would be able to convince Dean, as he had Sammy, to keep the marks on his back a secret from the patriarch of the family.

"I see," Dean drew out the words. He'd caught the furtive look Harry had cast in Sammy's direction and, given Sammy's frown, he doubted that Harry was telling the truth, but decided to let it go, for now.

"See," he grinned from ear to ear, trying to ease some of the tension that still lingered in the air between them, "that wasn't so hard was it?" He resisted the strange urge he had to ruffle the boy's hair, knowing that Harry would probably recoil at the abrupt touch. That was something else he was determined to get to the bottom of, why the kid was so skittish and why his idle threat had caused him to go wide-eyed in alarm.

Harry shook his head no and grinned back at Dean with an enthusiasm that he did not feel. He shrugged his shoulders and placed his hand lightly on Rumsfeld's back. The dog cast a suspicious look between Harry and Dean, he wasn't convinced that everything had been resolved, but Harry's light touch infused him with a sense of tranquility and he relaxed his tense muscles, moving from fight-or-flight mode to that of loyal protection.

His tongue lolled and he bumped his head under Harry's hand, begging him to pet him. Harry eagerly obliged, the forced grin transforming into a genuine smile as the repetitive action helped to calm his nerves. He chuckled lightly as the dog moaned in pleasure when he rubbed his ears.

Dean watched the interaction between boy and dog circumspectly. That was the first real smile he'd seen on the kid and he found that he liked that look on him. He'd never seen Bobby's dog take to another human being like he'd taken to Harry. Hell, he'd bet that the dog wasn't even as loyal to Bobby as he apparently was to Harry. There was no doubt in his mind that, were he to even raise his voice at Harry, Rumsfeld would intervene in a heartbeat. He was grateful that the dog had his brother's back; he hoped that, over time, Harry would come to realize that his big brother had his back too.

"Shall we get the show on the road?" Dean raised an eyebrow and once again, Harry was reminded of the severe look that Snape often shot in his direction when trying to catch him in a lie. Even though there was no obvious rancor in Dean's facial expression, his older brother seemed to be an expert at the look and he wondered if he'd be able to hold up under it if his brother's eyebrow were arched in the typical disapproval with which Snape reserved that particular gesture for.

He shuddered involuntarily as his mind wandered down that unwelcome path. There was no question in his mind that, were Dean to use that particular Snapish look on him, he'd be spurting the truth in no time. He was grateful that, for the time being, the look his brother was giving him was innocuous and even a little playful.

Sammy glared once in Dean's and then Harry's direction before nodding his head and letting what had happened drop for the time being. He realized, much too late, that he'd unwittingly placed himself in the middle of his 'big' brothers. He was, not only Harry's confidante, but had also been thrust into a direct confrontation with Dean. It was not a very pleasant situation to be in and Sammy wished that he had not so readily agreed to keep Harry's secret. _I'm not even the middle child_, he thought sullenly as he followed his big brothers.

Harry held back, allowing Sammy to catch up with him. "Thank you," he whispered. Instead of replying, Sammy's scowl darkened as he looked away from him and hurried to catch up to Dean. Harry stood uncertainly, fixed to the spot, Rumsfeld firmly planted at his heels. His younger brother's obvious anger toward him had an effect on him that he hadn't counted on, it made him feel a sense of loss and disappointment and his heart sank. What had he done wrong now? Would it be like this for the entire summer? Both brothers pitted against each other, against him?

All at once a heat radiated through Harry and anger stole over him like molten lava. He'd had enough of Dean's threats and blatant disapproval. He'd had enough of Sammy's tiresome meddling and his naïve trust that his father would be interested in the sores on his back, as if the man, who could barely even stand to look at him, would care. Who the hell did Sammy think he was anyway? They'd just met each other and already he was sticking his nose into something that was none of his business.

Breathing heavily through teeth clenched tight in anger, Harry fisted his hands and strode forward, passing first Sammy and then Dean. Rumsfeld clambered to catch up to the fuming boy who clutched at something invisible with bloodless fingers.

Sammy's blood was boiling. He loved his big brother more than just about anyone in the world. Dean had been there for him more than his own father over the years, but that didn't give him the right to boss him around or pry into matters that didn't concern him. He had things under control. Where did Dean come off thinking that he needed to know what he and Harry had talked about anyway? It was none of his goddamn business.

He was mad at Harry, and if he were going to be perfectly honest, he was mad at himself too. He should have minded his own business. It was obvious that the older boy didn't trust anyone other than himself and that he was not planning on letting anyone else know about those peculiar, inflamed marks on his back. Whether he wanted it or not, he had a family now, one that didn't keep secrets from one another, one that had each other's backs no matter what. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he was going to show Harry that he wasn't alone, that he was a Winchester now, whether he wanted to be or not and that Winchesters could count on each other.

Lost in his own brooding thoughts, Sammy didn't realize that Harry was stalking past him until the boy had gotten several feet ahead of Dean. He was heading toward the edge of Bobby's property at a fast pace and didn't look like he was going to slow down anytime soon. Shaking his head to clear it of his gloomy thoughts, he hurried to catch up with Harry before he left the salvage yard.

Dean wasn't sure how to read Harry. He was edgy and too easily spooked for his taste and yet he could lie smoothly and, had he not caught the look that Harry had shared with Sammy, he'd have believed the kid.

What bothered him most, however, was the casual camaraderie that Sammy and Harry already seemed to share. They'd known each other for what, all of three hours now? But already, they were sharing a secret and keeping it, thick as thieves, from him. If Dean were to be perfectly honest with himself, he would realize that he was feeling the sharp, green blade of jealousy, but he wasn't willing to go there just yet.

No, he was the big brother and it was his duty, as entrusted to him by the big man himself, to know what was going on with his younger brother, correction, brothers, at all times. It would not do to have them keeping things from him, besides, he was sure that it would either drive him crazy or into an early grave if they persisted in such things.

Harry, seemingly bent on outdistancing him, passed him by before Dean could gather his wandering thoughts enough to call out to him. Instead of rushing to catch up with him, he held back, watching to see what the kid was planning to do. Besides, he recognized that particular gait; it was one that he'd seen Sammy adopt when he was angry with him for something. For the time being, he'd give the kid the distance he obviously needed.

For the first time since he'd accidentally overheard about the newest addition to the Winchester family, he found himself really feeling for the boy. It couldn't have been easy for him to learn that the people he'd grown up thinking of as his parents really weren't, or rather that they'd kept something so vital as to his origins from him, and then to have to pick up and move to another country and meet the family he'd never even known he'd had. And then to have that family be the dysfunction that was the Winchesters…Dean didn't know how he'd react in such a situation and, to tell the truth, he didn't really want to find out.

As messed up as his family was, he wouldn't want to learn that they weren't really his. Did Harry miss the family he'd left behind? Dean knew that, though his family was far from perfect, he'd be lost without them. There was no way on God's green earth that he'd leave Sammy or his Dad behind, no matter what. Did Harry feel the same way about the family that he'd left? Had he been forced to leave them? Who would make a kid do such a thing? Biological family or not, family was family and that meant the world to Dean. Did it hold the same meaning for Harry?

Dean suddenly had a lot of questions and wasn't sure he'd be able to prize any of those answers from the recalcitrant, dark-haired boy who was angrily striding away from all of them at a pace which was quickly increasing with each step he took. For some inexplicable reason, Dean didn't want to lose this newest addition to his family and a protectiveness he'd hitherto only felt for Sammy overcame him. Whatever it took, he'd get through to the kid, break through whatever barriers he'd put up, and get him to trust him.

Roused out of his musings, Dean hurried after Sammy who was panting in his efforts to catch up with Harry who was now at the entrance to Bobby's salvage yard. When he'd reached the two, minutes later, they were at something of a standstill, staring each other down and Dean hesitated slightly before stepping in between the both of them. He had the distinct feeling that some heated words had been exchanged, and though he was curious as to what had been said, he thought better of asking about it. Harry was already wary of him and Sammy, if looks were anything to go by, was pissed.

Harry was quaking with anger and his hand kept flexing and closing as though he were grasping something, except Dean couldn't see anything for his whitened knuckles to be wrapped around. He was breathing heavily in and out through his nose and his gaunt face was pinched, his lips held so firmly together that they appeared to be leeched of all color. His green eyes had a hard edge to them and his glasses were canted at an angel. Had his brothers gotten into some sort of fight? He'd only lost sight of them for a few minutes at most.

Though Dean knew, without even having to look, that Sammy's lean frame was poised in combat mode, his eyes swiveled toward his youngest brother anyway. Sammy was in battle mode alright. To an outsider, he'd look almost casual, but Dean could tell by the stiffness in his brother's shoulders and the way he held his hands by his side, not quite fists, but not slack either, that Sammy was ready for a fight.

How had things gotten so out of control? He looked from one brother to the other. Neither boy even seemed to notice that he was there, their eyes held only each other's and Dean had a strange feeling that at any moment they'd begin circling and that if he didn't intervene soon, punches might thrown.

"Okay," Dean spoke soothingly and pasted a goofy grin on his face. Holding his hands out before him in a gesture meant to appease, his eyes sought out Rumsfeld's, who was standing uneasily by Harry's side. The dog almost appeared to nod at him as he quickly trotted over and planted himself next to him. "What's going on?" He kept his voice low and neutral, not wanting to intimidate either boy.

Harry's attention was momentarily diverted from Sammy as his eyes flitted in Dean's direction. He looked furious and Dean nearly quailed under the intensity of Harry's glare, but he stubbornly held his ground, not letting the benign smile on his face falter.

Sammy, on the other hand, ignored his big brother completely and continued to glare dangerously at Harry. His breathing was low and uneven. His jaw was clamped tightly shut and his nostrils flared. His cheeks held bright spots of red, making the rest of his face look pallid in comparison.

Overwhelmed with concern and knowing that he had to get things under control, and fast, before something happened that all of them would regret when their father found out about it, Dean stepped forward so that he was in direct line of both boys' vision. The effect on Sammy was almost instantaneous as the twelve-year-old marginally relaxed his stance and finally looked at him. Conversely, Harry had grown even tenser, his steady glower growing fractionally darker as he let out an angry burst of air.

"What happened?" Dean demanded in the big brother voice he reserved for when he'd known Sammy had done something wrong that his younger brother was trying to hide from him.

"Nothing," Sammy spit the word out in a clipped tone. He lowered his eyes from Dean's, unable to hold his brother's questioning gaze.

"Harry?" Dean turned suddenly, facing the irate boy.

"Nothing," though the word was spoken softly, it had a rigid tone to it. He too lowered his eyes as Dean studied him.

In full big brother mode now, Dean didn't back down, he wanted, no needed, answers. "Really?" He drew the word out a little and quirked an eyebrow. This particular look often had Sammy squirming and scrambling to tell him the truth and Dean felt a small satisfaction as he saw that it had a similar effect on Harry.

"Because, it seems to me like the two of you were fighting or about to fight," Dean continued, only dimly aware that he had adopted some of the same speech patterns and mannerisms of his father. His hands were now crossed over his chest and he pivoted to include Sammy in his line of vision. He too was squirming, shifting uneasily from foot-to-foot. Dean grinned inwardly; he had them both just where he wanted them and would get to the bottom of whatever it was that had caused an almost palpable friction between the two.

"So," he looked from one boy to the other, "seems to me that something must have happened." Sammy shrugged, but dropped his eyes when Dean looked at him. He was now almost completely composed, but Dean sensed that he was still mildly cross with whatever it was that had occurred between him and Harry before he'd arrived.

When neither boy made a move to speak first, Dean ran a hand through his short hair in an over exaggerated motion aimed at rattling one or both of them out of their unintentional unified quiet front. He was being effectively stonewalled by his brothers' mutual pact of silence, but was not about to let that deter him. Both of them were angry with each other and all he had to do was get one of them to nark on the other. As neither of them was currently mad at him, he would use that to his advantage.

"Harry?" He turned to the boy he knew the least about, having no idea what it would take to break through his barriers and get to the truth.

Harry worked his jaw, silently meeting Dean's calculated look with a challenging one of his own. Dean merely continued to stare at him, allowing his brow to wrinkle in contrition. "What happened between you and Sammy?"

Harry shrugged, a gesture that was nearly a twinned-mirror of Sammy's from earlier. Holding in a frustrated sigh, Dean frowned and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, turning toward Sammy.

"Sammy?" His eyebrows inched up toward his hairline. "What happened? You two get in a fight?"

"No," Sammy stared steadily at the ground, muttering what sounded to Dean like, _not yet anyway._

"So, you two are just standing here facing off with each other," he looked first at Sammy, then at Harry, "because nothing happened. Makes perfect sense," his tone was filled with incredulity and he shook his head slightly. He threw his hands up in the air before letting them come to rest at his side. This was not working as quickly as he'd hoped it would. Though both boys were clearly still angry with one another, neither felt compelled to tell him what was going on. _Damn Winchester pride, _he thought sullenly. _Damn it Dean, you're slipping, can't even manage to get two gangly prepubescent teens to talk._

"Fine, whatever," he let out a melodramatic puff of air, "next time I'll just let you two girls fight it out." He'd intentionally used the jibe to see if he could cajole something from at least Sammy.

"I told you, nothing happened, Dean," Sammy rewarded him with an annoyed response. He was now looking at him with a firm scowl in place.

All he had to do was play his cards right now and he'd be able to get a semblance of an answer, maybe even the whole truth would come bursting out of one of them. If he played this wrong, they might become even more united in their secrecy.

"Right," Dean replied, his voice dripping heavily with sarcasm, "it's obvious by the way you two have been glaring daggers at each other that everything between you two is all lovey dovey and rainbow bright. It must all just be a figment of my overactive imagination. Think I ought to have my head examined maybe I got a concussion the other day, huh, Sammy?" He advanced toward his younger brother as he spoke.

"Stop! It's not his fault!" Harry's words came out in an anguished rush and Dean turned to find him taking a hesitant step toward him.

His eyes were fixed on Sammy even as he addressed Dean, "I got mad because both of you were butting into my business and I'm so tired of everyone bossing me around and pretending that they care when they really don't and being carted from one place to another for my own good! It's like what I want doesn't matter at all! I have nothing of my own! I don't even know who the hell I am anymore! I just want everyone to leave me alone! I…" he broke off his tirade suddenly, breathing laboriously through his nostrils, keenly aware that his rant wouldn't make much sense to either boy.

Neither of them knew about Dumbledore and how he'd orchestrated his life up to this point or the Dursleys and how much they'd despised him or anything else that he'd been through.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he hitched the sleeves of his long-sleeved tee-shirt up, and tried to gather his jumbled thoughts together. He didn't want to be the central cause of a fight between his brothers and was somewhat afraid that Dean might hurt Sammy and it would be all his fault.

Dean's eyes were drawn inexorably toward Harry who halted just in front of him. His eyes were quietly, desperately petitioning him to leave Sammy alone. Rumsfeld, who had sat resolutely in the middle regarding everyone warily throughout the heated exchange, now stood and ambled to Harry, touching the trembling boy's hand with the top of his head. Harry allowed his hand to rest on the dog's head and Dean noticed that his breathing had begun to slow down almost instantaneously. _Almost as if by magic_, the thought came to him unexpectedly.

He looked at Harry, his eyes raking over the boy to ascertain whether he had calmed down sufficiently enough for him to move closer without frightening him. In his quick perusal, his eyes lit upon a purple, mottled bruise on Harry's upper arm, and heedless of any startled reaction he might elicit from the only slightly younger boy, he reached for the bruised arm and grasped it gently, acutely aware of Harry's sharp intake of breath and the way he jerked almost violently at being touched. He rolled the sleeve up further, not allowing Harry to pull his arm away, to reveal that the bruise he'd seen was not singular, but accompanied by several more of varying shapes and sizes. His eyes fled to Harry's beseechingly.

Harry, face tinged pink with embarrassment, turned away and tried unsuccessfully to wrest his arm out of Dean's gentle, yet firm hold. "Let go," he hissed between his teeth.

Dean's eyes, however, had discovered something of even more interest than the bruises which covered Harry's upper arm and he turned the arm over in his hand, grunting in surprise as he traced a thin, jagged scar running from wrist to elbow with a tender finger. The recently healed wound was red, slightly puckered and raised and stared up at him from Harry's fair skin. If Dean had to make a guess he'd say that it had been made with a steel-edge dagger and that it had been inflicted maybe two, three weeks ago. The bruises, however, had been attained possibly as little as three or four days ago.

"How'd this happen?" Dean's voice was low and dangerous. His green eyes glittered with barely restrained rage at the thought of someone harming his kid brother, never mind the fact that he'd just met him and that he hadn't even known about him when the injuries had been sustained. All he knew was that whoever or whatever had done this to Harry was going to pay a heavy price.

Harry, not knowing that Dean's fury wasn't directed at him, pulled frantically on his arm, trying to extract it from the older boy's unyielding grip. He yanked, but Dean would not let go, and when he realized that his arm was going nowhere, he began to struggle in earnest, his breathing coming in painful gasps which tore at his lungs. Pinpricks of light dotted his vision and he felt a surge, not at all unlike the power from an electrical storm, tingle throughout his body which rent the wind and whipped up a small, contained dust storm around them.

Rumsfeld inserted his body between Harry and Dean, offering immediate comfort to the boy he'd all but adopted as his own while trying to push Dean away from him at the same time. The small dust storm had him edgy.

"Whoa there, calm down Harry, I'm not going to hurt you," Dean spoke in a subdued tone, locking eyes with Sammy whom he'd been watching peripherally. The younger boy was on the other side of Harry now, backing Dean up, making sure that their newest brother wouldn't be able to make a run for it if he did manage to escape from Dean. Rumsfeld, sensing that Dean was trying, not to harm, but to help Harry, nudged his charge, moving him closer to the older boy.

At Dean's nod, Sammy stood directly behind Harry, his hair whipping in the sudden burst of air that had been mysteriously kicked up around them. He returned Dean's nod and waited for him to make his next move. Harry had gone peculiarly quiet and had stopped trying to get away from Dean.

The inexplicable dust storm raged around them, ruffling Dean's hair, raising goose bumps along his skin. "Harry," Dean tried to break through to the unresponsive boy. Rumsfeld whined with anxiety as his fur was disturbed by the increasing wind and Harry remained stiff and quiet.

The wind was picking up and Dean felt a funny prickling spread up through his arm from the hand that was touching Harry. The odd sensation grew in intensity until Dean pulled his hand back sharply in alarm, flexing and rubbing his throbbing arm. He ogled at Harry with awe-filled wonder. It was almost as though the boy had called the storm up supernaturally to protect himself. _That's not possible, get a grip, Dean. _Nevertheless, he kept it at the back of his mind.

He shook his head and noticed that the dust storm had settled and that Harry was pulling frenziedly on his tee-shirt, covering up the marks that Dean had seen. The kid was working hard at getting his breathing under control and casting furtive looks in his direction.

"I…I'm sorry," Harry stammered. His heart was beating so loudly that he worried Dean and Sammy could hear it. Dumbledore was going to send him back to the Dursleys, he was sure of it. His brothers would think he was a freak and would probably be afraid of him after this appalling display of accidental magic.

He had tried, really, to get his raging emotions under control, but, just like he'd accidentally blown up Aunt Marge or the when Dudley and his gang had been chasing him and he'd wound up on the school roof, he had panicked and lost it, completely. His heart sunk and he couldn't hold Dean's probing look as he realized the ramifications of what had happened.

He was grateful that no one had been hurt. He had no idea if there was an Accidental Magic Reversal Agency or something like that in the States. What if he'd harmed Dean or Sammy and no one had been able to reverse the effects? Tears pricked at the back of his eyes.

"You okay?" The sincerity and the utter lack of accusation behind the words is what caused Harry to look up. Dean was looking at him, not with disgust, but with a concern that had him reeling. Could it be possible that Dean didn't think of him as a freak? Was it possible that Dean didn't even realize that the impromptu storm had been unintentionally created by him as a direct result of his fear that he was going to be harmed?

He nodded his head, not trusting his voice. His heart was still hammering madly in his chest and his mouth had gone dry. His eyes stung with the effort of keeping his angry, chastising tears at bay.

"That was quite some dust devil, huh?" He smiled crookedly at Harry, coaxing a small smile from him in return. Perplexed, Dean absentmindedly rubbed at his arm which still tingled like it had gone to sleep. _Had Harry done this?_ Shaking his head lightly, he vowed to get to the bottom of it.

"I'm sorry Harry," Sammy apologized sincerely. He'd come to stand beside Harry, Rumsfeld between them. He rested his hand on Rumsfeld's back, next to where Harry's hand lay. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. It's just…" he looked at his brother, tears in his eyes, "I was worried and…and mad at you," the last words came out in a heated rush. Sammy's face flushed and he speared Harry with a glare. "You were being so stubborn and," he bit his lower lip, "stupid," he finished quietly.

"So," Dean sighed, "something did happen before I got here."

"Yes," Sammy answered quickly, "I told Harry that he was being a stubborn ass for not telling you…" he looked quickly away, realizing what he'd almost let slip. He might've been angry at Harry for putting him in the awkward position of keeping a secret from Dean, but it wasn't his place to tell what he'd promised he wouldn't, even with the revelation of the scar and bruises on Harry's arm.

"And I told Sammy," Harry stared fixedly at the ground as he spoke, "that he should mind his own business, I didn't need him butting into my life, I've done just fine on my own."

"That's it?" Dean asked incredulously. He'd thought that they'd exchanged more than words. Shaking his head, he laughed. "All of this," he gestured wildly with his arms, "because you two got into a pissing match?"

Sammy turned his glare on Dean. _He could really be an ass. _"No," he spoke through clenched teeth.

"Well then enlighten me pray tell," Dean smirked. He had not forgotten about the bruises littering Harry's covered arm, nor the crimson scar, but he knew that Harry would go on the defensive were he to bring it up right now. He'd have to give the kid some time before he attempted prying the necessary information from him about where'd he'd gotten the bruises and who'd cut him. A fierce protectiveness rose up in his belly as he thought of the many ways in which Harry could have come by those injuries, each imagined scenario direr than the next.

"Harry," he narrowed his eyes as they fell on the other boy, "told me that he was going to run away."

"Is that so?" Dean asked dryly.

"And I told him," Sammy's face fell and he looked away with shame, "that if he didn't want to be a Winchester, if he didn't trust us, then he should because I didn't want to get to know him if he couldn't even be brave enough to face you and Dad. That he was being a baby and that we'd be better off without him…that we'd all have been better off had he never been born in the first place," Sammy's voice was thick with the effort of holding in tears when he finished. He was so ashamed of himself.

"And I," Harry brushed against Sammy's hand, "told him that I'd never even wanted to meet you all in the first place and that you were all nosy, preachy imbeciles and that I'd be better off without you. And then," Harry paused, "I started to walk away."

"Then I," Sammy, bolstered by Harry's honesty, continued the tale, "shoved him from behind and…"

"I turned around and shoved him back…"

"And then you came along," Sammy finished, shrugging.

By the end of their story both boys were grinning at each other. Dean looked at the both of them and shook his head with disbelief. They were both thick as thieves once again as though nothing had happened.

"So, you two done being drama queens now or should I come back in a few hours, you know when you're done with your chick flick moment?"

"I think we're good now," Sammy's eyes lit up as he glanced at Harry who nodded.

"Good, 'cause I've had about enough of this teenage hormonal crap for one day," his lips quirked up in an impish grin. "Ready for that tour?" He turned to Harry.

"Sounds good," he let out a shaky breath as he realized that Dean was not going to ask him about what he'd seen on his arm. With any luck the older boy would forget about it entirely or at least not pester him about it. But if that piercing look Dean was shooting in his direction were anything to go by, he highly doubted that the older boy would just let it go.

"Lead the way Sammy," Dean gestured in the general direction of the salvage yard. He figured that he'd have a couple of hours, at least, to plan how he was going to get the information out of Harry. If Harry refused to talk to him, he'd bring his Dad in on it. He knew that he'd have to eventually, especially if what he suspected was true, but wanted to use the eldest Winchester only as a last resort. His father could be mightily intimidating and he doubted that Harry would respond well to his father's method of interrogation.

As they walked through the salvage yard, Sammy leading the way, Rumsfeld trotting along in Harry's wake, Dean worked on his plan to get his newest brother to talk. The methods that had always worked with Sammy clearly would not work with the middle Winchester.

Harry had calmed down considerably as they walked and Sammy chattered away about this and that, but Dean saw him fight back yawns on more than one occasion. _How many hours of sleep had the kid gotten in the past three days? Not much_, he surmised. First thing in his plan was to make sure that Harry got some sleep. After that, he'd work his big brother charm on the kid. If that didn't work, he'd use another method, intimidation, one he hoped to God he didn't have to use because it could backfire and Harry might shut him out completely.

"Bobby's back," Sammy's cheerful voice broke through Dean's ruminations and the boys walked back to the house. Suddenly Dean knew just what he would do about Harry, how he'd get the kid to talk to him and it was a brilliant plan if he did say so himself. Grinning like a buffoon, Dean trailed behind his brothers, waving away Bobby's inquisitive glance.

Rumsfeld, leery of leaving his ward, yet trusting that his master would not harm him, took his leave of the boys as they entered the house. Ambling toward his favorite patch of earth just off the porch he cast one mournful look after Harry before circling his chosen spot and finally settling down to rest. It had been a long, stressful morning. He would wait for his boy and be there for him should the need arise.


	14. My Brother's Secret Keeper Part II

**Disclaimer**: See prologue for disclaimer and warnings.

**A/N**: Thank you to those who reviewed anonymously, to whom I could not send a reply.

This is a story about family bonding involving an abused child and I wish to cast light on these issues, so please don't expect things to move at an unrealistic pace. Please remember that this story is AU. There is quite a bit of swearing in this chapter.

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My Brother's Secret Keeper Part II

"What have you boys been up to?" Bobby eyed the three boys speculatively. Something had happened, but he doubted that they'd share any of the particulars with him. He wondered if John would be made privy to any of it, but then reasoned that some things were best kept between brothers.

"Showed Harry 'round your place," Sammy answered as he raced into the kitchen to wash up before helping with lunch.

"That so?" Bobby frowned thoughtfully and tugged on the brim of his cap. Neither Dean nor Harry commented as they joined Sammy in the kitchen. Shrugging, Bobby laid out lunch items on the counter and the boys worked together silently as they constructed sandwiches, a salad, and set the table. He got out a can of soup and set to getting that ready.

The silence wouldn't have bothered him so much, heck, he was used to it living alone, if it wasn't for the fact that Sammy Winchester was almost never quiet. It took a lot to silence the young boy. Bobby was willing to bet that it had something to do with whatever it was that had occurred between the three in their exploration of the salvage yard.

"Go get your Dad," Bobby nodded to Sammy who bounded out of the room. Left with the other two Winchesters, Bobby gestured for them to be seated. They sat on opposite sides of the table, Harry looking down at his lap, Dean watching the other boy privately.

"So," Bobby cleared his throat, "you two care to enlighten me on what happened out there?"

Harry's eyes shot up and there was an unmistakable look of panic in them as they sought out Dean's, silently begging the other boy to remain quiet. Dean's jaw tightened and he looked away.

"Nothing happened," Dean shrugged, not meeting Bobby's eyes.

Bobby snorted and folded his arms over his chest. "Right, that's why all three of you been quieter than a dormouse on Christmas Eve."

"I…"Harry struggled to find the right words, he didn't want Dean to tell Bobby what he'd discovered on his arms, and feared that he might. He didn't want anyone to know about what Peter Pettigrew had done to him in the graveyard to bring back Voldemort, didn't want to be reminded of that time at all, the nightmares were enough penance. And he really didn't want any of the Winchesters or Bobby to know about the bruises he'd received at the hands of the Dursleys. He didn't want or need their pity and didn't want to give them even more reason to view him as a weak kid unable to take care of himself.

"What's that?" John had walked into the middle of something. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned as he took a seat between Bobby and Dean. Sleep had been good for him; he was already feeling more himself. Sammy sat next to Harry, wriggling in his seat as he settled.

"Just tryin' to figure out what happened while I was away," Bobby said nonchalantly as he went about filling up his plate and then Harry's.

"You boys been up to something you shouldn't have?" John looked at each boy in turn.

Bobby almost wished that he had chosen not to alert the hunter to his own suspicions as the three boys squirmed under his intense perusal of them. _No going back now. _He just hoped that he'd read the situation correctly and that it would help the four of them to open up with each other. Winchesters were too damn stubborn for their own good and he felt obligated as an almost surrogate father to Dean and Sammy to help them out when they got stuck.

Their father, excellent hunter with good instincts though he may be, was often oblivious to what went on between the brothers and, provided that they actually stayed with him for the majority of the summer, he was going to work on that, get the man to notice his sons more and be there when they needed him. Bobby wasn't blind; he knew that Dean had practically raised Sammy since his father had chosen to chase after the demon that had killed his wife. Heck, the kid had probably changed more of his brother's diapers than John had.

With a new Winchester boy added to the family, Bobby wanted the eldest Winchester to step up to the plate and do what he should have been doing in the first place, take care of his children. It might be too late for Dean, but he sensed that both Sammy and Harry could benefit from it.

"No Sir." Dean didn't quite meet his father's eyes as he reached for a sandwich.

The tension permeating the room was unmistakable and John narrowed his eyes, rubbing absentmindedly at the stubble on his chin. Something was going on and it had all three boys not meeting his gaze.

"I would like a truthful answer," John spoke in low tones, yet the underlying order behind his words was unmistakable.

"That's up to Harry," Sammy muttered barely inaudibly and winced as he felt Harry's eyes on him. He kept his eyes glued to the plate of food in front of him, not daring to look at his new brother, knowing that if he were to look at him, he'd find nothing but accusation in those haunted green eyes which looked so much like Dean's, but held far more pain than even his big brother's who'd seen their mother die when he was still a little kid. His hands shook slightly as he picked up his sandwich and took a small, nervous bite.

Harry shot his younger brother a look which held the hurt of betrayal in it, clenching his fists tightly in his lap, he worked his jaw furiously. He was oblivious to John's and Bobby's eyes on him. Neither man had figured that Harry had something to do with what was going on between the brothers.

"Harry?" John spoke almost hesitantly. The boy, who was silently staring at Sammy with a pained look that held a healthy measure of antipathy, gave no indication that he'd heard John speak. Taken aback, John looked from Harry to Dean who met his father's questioning look with a slightly worried one.

This was not going down the way he'd wanted it to; Dean's plan had included earning Harry's trust, or at least the beginning of his trust, first. He should have realized that Bobby would notice something was off, should have prepared Sammy and Harry before they'd walked into the home of the man who knew them probably better than their own father did.

Now with both Bobby and John savvy to the fact that something was up, there was no more time to put his plan into action. He could sense, without even having to look, that Harry was immensely upset and overwhelmed. He wondered briefly what it was that Sammy and Harry had been keeping from him, if it was worse, though he highly doubted it, than what he'd seen on Harry's arm. Nothing could be worse than that, could it?

Bobby was watching all four Winchesters, wondering just what it was that he had set into motion. He felt a prickling at the back of his neck and the windows in the kitchen began to shake and rattle in their casings. He cast a furtive glance out of one of the windows, it was still bright outside. Whatever was causing the windows to jitter, it wasn't being caused by a fast approaching storm.

He looked at Harry and drew in a quick breath. The boy sat stiff and tense in his chair, his eyes hadn't left Sammy. The air around him shifted and shimmered in an array of fleeting colors and Bobby shook his head, unsure he had seen anything as the air rippled once more, causing the windows to vibrate loudly before everything stilled and quieted. The boy was breathing heavily and, when he finally tore his eyes away from the youngest Winchester, Bobby found himself to be the unwitting subject of chilling emerald green eyes.

Swallowing, he shot a quick glance in John's direction, confirming that the other man had witnessed the same thing he had. It hadn't been a figment of his imagination. Harry had somehow, in his distress, managed to affect the very air around him. The water in their glasses trembled as what felt like a low-level earthquake shook the house.

"Harry," Dean recognized the signs which had accompanied the strange dust storm earlier and realized that both were a result of Harry's overwrought emotional state. He shook his head as John reached out to touch Harry, remembering how he'd flinched when he'd tried to do the same thing earlier. Though he was mildly freaked out with the way Bobby's house was quaking, he was much more concerned about Harry.

"Harry," he tried again, willing the kid to look at him, "Harry," finally he turned to look at him and Dean quelled the shock that meeting his brother's troubled eyes sent through him. His arm tingled, reminding him of what had occurred when he'd tried to get Harry to talk about what had happened to him.

"Harry," he took a deep, calming breath before proceeding, "calm down, you're safe here. No one's going to hurt you." The bitter look of incredulity that Harry shot him tore at his heart. _What the hell had the kid been through? _He had his suspicions, but was worried that things were far worse than he had imagined them to be.

"Yes," John cleared his throat, turning back to Harry, noticing that the windows had ceased to shake as fiercely when Dean had been able to break through to Harry, "you're safe here Harry." He stood and knelt next to the boy who was now his responsibility, careful not to touch him, though he wanted nothing more than to take the boy into his arms and hold him.

He had no idea what all of this was about, or why the house was shaking seemingly in response to Harry's emotions, the only thing he cared about was getting through to his son and making him understand that everything was going to be okay, that he was safe. He'd figure out the rest of it later. For now, Harry needed him.

"Harry," the windows had stopped shaking and the house grew still as the dark-haired boy's breathing slowed and he looked at John for the first time since this all had begun. His green eyes, so much like Mary's, were flooded with tears of anxiety that he struggled to keep from falling. His lower lip quivered and he let out a quivering breath which came out as a sob. He lowered his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

"What happened?" John pressed gently, resisting the urge to squeeze Harry's shoulder comfortingly. Unsure of how to address the supernatural occurrence without setting Harry off again, he shoved it to the back of his mind to deal with once he had gotten to the bottom of whatever it was that had Dean and Sammy so riled. Though it was something which had him on edge, he knew that he had to get Harry calmed down first and then deal with that when everything had settled down.

Harry rocked his head, pulling at his hair. His breathing became hitched as he fought to control his tears. He'd done it again, would he get in trouble for performing underage magic in spite of it being accidental? He had no idea how he'd even begin to explain what had happened to his family without mentioning that he was a wizard. What would Dumbledore do if Harry told his family the truth? Would he return him to the Dursleys, expel him from Hogwarts, take his wand, make him serve detention with Snape all year long?

What would his family do if they found out he was a wizard? Would they treat him as the Dursley's had? Lock him away and refuse to feed him, treat him like a criminal and hit him? He didn't think he could bear to have another family which treated him that way. He'd simply have to find a way to explain what had happened that didn't involve magic or him being a good for nothing freak.

"Harry," John settled for resting his hand on the back of Harry's chair, "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. I know that your life has been turned upside down recently. Do you miss your family?"

For some reason that thought made John uncomfortable. He supposed it was only natural for Harry to miss the family he'd grown up with, but the thought that he might prefer to return to them made his heart sink. Now that he was sitting there in front of him, he realized that he wanted to keep him, that he already thought of him as his son, funky business aside. It was more than just a little disconcerting.

Harry shook his head sharply, quaking slightly as he did so. A single tear splashed onto the knee of his jeans and he swiped at his eyes with the back of a trembling hand. He was _not_ going to break down now, not in front of John, Dean, his traitorous brother, Sammy, and Bobby. He was going to be strong and get his roiling emotions under control, that way Dumbledore would not have any reason to find fault with him and his family might want to keep him.

Anger seethed beneath the surface and further below that, Harry felt something that he could not quite identify. Something he was apprehensive to identify. It wanted loose and he was terrified of what would happen if he were to let whatever it was out, lest it consume him and those around him.

"What's wrong Harry?" John's voice held some of the concern he felt.

Harry's face, etched with tortured longing and desperation, haunted John as he saw the anguish evident in his lachrymose eyes. John was lost in the raw neediness he saw as Harry momentarily let down his walls.

"Oh Harry," his voice was rough with emotion. He longed to wrap his arms around Harry, draw him to himself as he had Dean shortly after they'd lost Mary, but he was worried how Harry would react. Would the boy welcome his embrace or would he reject it? Would whatever the hell had happened earlier with the rattling windows and the earthquake-like shaking reoccur if his son felt threatened by the touch? He had no idea what to do, how to help his son.

His eyes sought first Bobby's, then Dean's. Both were looking to him, as though he was supposed to know what to do. In a final act of desperation, he looked to Sammy whose eyes were locked on Harry, unseeing. He read sorrow and guilt in them and wondered what Sammy had to feel guilty about. _Had he done something to Harry? Had he and Dean done something to hurt their brother a few scant hours after having just met him? _

Anger surged in his belly at the thought that his boys could have done something to hurt their brother. He knew that there would be an adjustment period; he just hadn't thought that Dean, though his son had seemed reluctant to accept a new Winchester into the fold, would do something which would harm a blood relative. The thought of Sammy doing something to harm Harry was laughable; he'd been the first to warm up to him. It just didn't make sense to him.

"What happened?" He asked the room at large. Unused to not getting answers when he asked for them, he was flummoxed.

Dean pursed his lips, refusing to talk. Sammy was utterly transfixed on Harry as though pleading for forgiveness for some horrendous transgression. Harry's glazed eyes were focused on him. Bobby returned his glare with a shrug of his shoulders and there was a glint in his eyes as though he were perversely enjoying his current predicament. John was at a complete and utter loss for what to do and that is when anger roared its ugly head.

"Someone had better tell me what the hell is going on and now," he spat out before he could control his anger. He immediately regretted losing his patience when Harry shut down and turned away from him.

"John," Bobby said warningly. His eyes regarded the other man with a steely look which he hoped communicated to the other man how much he'd fouled up the whole situation with Harry. _The man could be such a goldarn idjit. He'd be lucky if Harry ever spoke to him after this._

John bit his bottom lip and breathed in deeply through his nose in an attempt to calm himself. The flash of anger he'd felt at his sons' lack of verbosity passed as well as his anger toward Bobby who was looking at him as though he'd royally fucked things up. Hell, who was he kidding, he had.

"Boys," he tried again, this time in a voice which bordered on pleading, "just tell me what happened. I promise I won't be angry." His mind was fashioning a number of different stories that the boys could possibly come up with for what had caused Harry to be in such an obvious state of distress. None of them good.

Understanding dawned on Dean as he caught the calculating look in his father's eyes. He thought that he and Sammy had done something to Harry. That they'd somehow hurt the kid.

"We didn't do anything wrong," Dean said quietly, the thought of hurting Harry turning his stomach sour.

"Then what has your brother so upset?" John stood, looking at Dean.

Harry looked up at John through the fringe of his hair, trying to determine whether the brother he was talking about was him or Sammy. He couldn't imagine that it would be him, after all, he hadn't been a brother for very long, and yet John's eyes were back on him. Harry's heart quickened its pace and his face reddened. John, his father, had been talking about him, not about Sammy or Dean or anyone else. His father, dare he even think it…was worried about him, was worried that Dean and Sammy had done something to hurt him. It was unfathomable that someone would be concerned on his behalf.

"It wasn't anything that we did," Dean answered a little more defensively than he'd intended to.

He wished that he'd been able to get Harry to talk earlier or that he'd at least prepped the kid for what would await him when their Dad wanted answers. He was more than a little angry that his father thought he or Sammy had done something to Harry. His father obviously didn't know him all that well and that bothered him.

He wondered if Harry would speak up or if he'd be forced to make up some offense to take his father's interest off the other boy. He didn't relish the thought of being punished for something he hadn't even done, but was willing to cop to some make-believe crime to give Harry some respite. He could take whatever it was that his Dad would see fit to dish out to him. Hell, he'd even clean each and every weapon, take apart and reassemble each gun, and run an undetermined number of laps around Bobby's junkyard on the ire he felt at his father's misapprehension directed at him. If his father really thought so little of him, then fuck it.

"I'm not buying that," John's voice was not harsh and yet it caused all three boys to flinch, "you can't tell me that something didn't happen to upset your brother." John looked away. "I'm disappointed that you're lying to me Dean."

Dean's jaw dropped briefly before he recovered and snapped his mouth shut, turning his head slightly to stare blankly at the wall. Maybe if he didn't say anything his Dad would let it slide. _Yeah right, that'll happen and soon pigs'll fly._

Harry didn't understand why neither Dean nor Sammy was talking. One or both of them could have told John what they'd seen and not have to endure John's questioning. He could tell they were uncomfortable and couldn't wrap his mind around what would possibly cause them to remain silent. John wasn't being fair to either of them, but had assumed that they had been in the wrong rather than him. It was odd for him to have an adult on his side, even when he was right, let alone when it was he who had caused the problem in the first place.

He could understand Ron or Hermione, maybe even Ginny, being willing to undergo such grilling by Snape or Dumbledore without saying anything to give him away. He'd do the same for them, but they were his friends, it was expected. Sammy and Dean, they'd just met him and yet, here they were, suffering through John's questioning for what? _Is this what things are like for Ron, do his brothers protect him like this? Is that what Sammy and Dean were doing, protecting him? And if they were doing this for him now, not really knowing him, what would things be like once they actually got to know each other?_

Dean coughed and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. Effectively avoiding his father's gaze, the words of a lie on the tip of his tongue in spite of the punishment he was sure would be forthcoming; he took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Sammy beat him to it.

"I…I got into a fight with Harry," he lowered his eyes when John, Dean and Bobby turned to look at him with varying looks of disbelief on their faces. Harry looked at him out of the corner of his eye, head still resting in his hands. Sammy looked like he was headed for the gallows.

It was a partial truth and, if his Dad asked what they'd been fighting about, he'd be as evasive as possible and hopefully avoid lying outright. He knew there'd be consequences. He'd have to run laps or maybe dust Bobby's bookshelves or maybe both, but there was no backing down now.

He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, keep Harry's secret, but he'd promised him and he was not going to go back on his word. Winchester's were men of their word, or at least that is what he'd come to believe. If they said something, they meant it.

Besides, Harry was his brother now, it didn't matter that a day ago he hadn't even known about him. His big brother always had his back and now he had Harry's back. Simple as that. He didn't like going against his Dad, but right now, Harry needed time and he could help buy him some. He didn't understand why Harry was so reluctant to talk to their Dad or Dean or him, but hoped that he would be willing to open up soon because he knew he wouldn't be able to keep being evasive for long.

_All of this because of a fight?_ John ran a tired hand through his hair as he looked at Harry who was still bent over in his chair. His shoulders were stiff and shook slightly with each shaky breath that he took. _Was the kid really that sensitive that a simple fight with his brother would cause an emotional breakdown? This is going to be a long summer._

Sighing, John resumed his seat. Reigning in the mounting anger that he felt, he grasped a napkin in his hand and waited a minute before speaking, "Sammy, I'm disappointed and we will have to discuss punishment, but first what did you two fight about?"

He watched Sammy intently, ignoring Harry for the moment. He still had to get to the bottom of what had happened before addressing the other boy. Sammy, he knew how to handle, Harry, he didn't. The kid was turning out to be even more of a mystery to him.

"Um…" Sammy hesitated, unsure of how best to proceed. He didn't want to tell his Dad all that he'd said to Harry because that would lead to even more questions and he knew that he'd slip up or make his Dad even angrier with his dancing around the answers. He was treading on shaky ground as it was and had to be careful.

Harry's head was spinning. He didn't understand why Sammy and Dean were not just telling John the truth of what had happened. Though he and Sammy had fought, it hadn't really been his fault. If it were Dudley, Harry would've already been thrown under the bus and the punishment would have already commenced. He pressed his fingers into his eyes as though trying to assuage a headache.

"It's my fault," he whispered hoarsely. Insides jittery with nervousness, he raised his head and, looking steadfastly at the tabletop, continued before he could be interrupted, "I," he bit his bottom lip. This was harder than he'd thought it would be. "You should punish me and not Sammy," he spoke quietly, not daring to look at anyone. He couldn't allow anyone to take a beating on his behalf, especially when he had been in the wrong.

"Maybe I should leave." Bobby looked around the Winchesters seated uneasily at his kitchen table and inched his chair away from the table, making to stand.

"No," Harry's sharp command stopped him and he sat back heavily in his chair. Harry sent him an apologetic look before returning his gaze to the top of the table. "That is," he licked his lips, "you can stay if you want."

"What's your fault Harry?" John watched Harry closely. The boy refused to raise his eyes and he looked white as a ghost.

"I'm sorry for fighting with you," he turned, speaking to Sammy. His green eyes conciliatory, he took a deep breath before continuing, "I shouldn't have made you promise not to tell your Dad." The welts on his back screamed at him in protest, but he ignored them.

"And I shouldn't have walked in on you," Sammy murmured in response. His eyes were locked on Harry's, "I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head, "That's okay. 'S not your fault."

At a loss for what the two boys were talking about as it made no sense to him. It reminded him of how Dean and Sammy spoke to each other, not in complete sentences, and yet they understood one another. Was it some sort of brotherly code or a conspiracy to drive parents mad? He was slowly losing his temper yet again as he still had gotten no answers. John dropped his napkin onto the table and placed both hands before him, leaning toward the pair.

"What are you two talking about?"

"I walked in on Harry while he was in the bathroom and I saw something I shouldn't have," Sammy let the words spill out of him. He felt an instant relief before guilt crashed down on him as he realized that he had effectively tipped Harry's hand.

Blinking, John looked from one boy to the other in confusion. His face took on a comical frown and Dean nearly burst out laughing in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

"Uh Sammy?" Dean nudged his brother whose face grew bright red as he finally understood the implications of what he'd said.

"That is…" he trailed off, unable to meet his father's eyes.

Harry's face flushed as he comprehended, belatedly, how John had taken what the younger boy had said. Mortified, he wondered if he should let John continue to think erroneously or if he should enlighten him as to what Sammy had really seen. If he let John believe that Sammy had just caught him in a state of undress and that he'd been perturbed by it, he wouldn't have to show him what Uncle Vernon had done, but John would think he was all of the things Snape thought of him. Would it be worth maintaining his privacy for John to think of him as a spoiled, arrogant brat who couldn't handle accidentally being seen in the nude by a younger brother?

Dean observed the various emotions playing across Harry's and Sammy's faces as it dawned on them what his younger brother had inadvertently implied. Had that been what all the fuss was about? Was Harry really that uncomfortable with having been seen in the buff? But why had a deal been struck between the two if that was all that had happened? Dean wasn't buying it, but he knew that his father hadn't yet come to the conclusion that Sammy had simply made a poor choice in words, that something else far more worrisome had occurred.

"What did you see Sammy?" Bobby had come to the crux of the matter quicker than any of the rest of them had. He knew that Sammy, smart as he was, often let his words come out too fast for thinking. If John thought that Harry was on the verge of bursting into tears because he'd been seen au naturel, he wasn't reading the kid all that well. He figured that, until John spent some time with his son, he'd continue to make mistakes with him and that because he himself was not a Winchester, he had a much better perspective on the whole situation.

Sammy looked at him gratefully, resuming some of his natural coloring, but instead of answering, he angled his head in Harry's direction. Sometimes he wished that he would think things out thoroughly before speaking. He hoped that Harry wouldn't completely hate him when all of this was over.

Debating whether or not to let John continue to think he was nothing more than a puerile nuisance who couldn't handle being caught partially naked in the toilet, he remained silent for a heartbeat. Could things really, truly be different with the Winchesters? Might he be accepted as a part of their family, as he was, failures, weaknesses and all?

It was easy for the Wizarding World to accept him. He'd faced things many adult wizards had only ever read about and had overcome them, but in the Muggle World, there was little he'd accomplished. He'd been beaten, forced to perform endless chores, and been the object of ridicule. As such, there was little he had to offer. He'd come to think of himself as two different Harrys over the course of the years he'd been attending Hogwarts. There was the Harry of the Wizarding World who was a celebrity and then the Harry of the Muggle World who was an abhorred, undesirable nobody.

Yet here, things had been different almost from the start. Dean and Sammy hadn't told their father what they'd seen, though it would have made lunch a much more pleasant affair had they done that. None of the Winchesters had become irascible, or yelled at him when he'd had outbursts of accidental magic. Bobby had even piled food on his plate once again for lunch.

All evidence was pointing to something so foreign for Harry that he had a hard time putting a name to it. Tears tugged at the corners of his eyes. Overwhelmed, he looked to Dean who smiled at him encouragingly.

Gathering up his wizardly courage, he met John's stare and, taking a deep breath, spoke uncertainly, "I asked Sammy to keep quiet about what he'd seen and promised to tell you about it, but I had no intention of telling you. I was hoping he'd forget all about it."

Sammy and Dean snorted in unison, breaking some of the uncomfortable tension that had descended upon the kitchen. Harry felt his lips twitching upward in a half smile as he suddenly became aware of how ridiculous he'd sounded. He knew, now, that Sammy and Dean would never have forgotten. Instead, they would have done their best to wear him down until he told their father.

John was sitting on the edge of his seat wondering what had his sons so worked up. Whatever Sammy had seen in the bathroom, it couldn't have been all that bad. It couldn't have required this much drama. Weary, he wondered if he could fast-forward through the rest of his sons' teenage years. He didn't know if he had the fortitude to make it through to the end now that there were three of them.

Thankfully Dean was more mature than most teens, he felt a pang of guilt that his son had been forced to grow up so quickly, but if his son had been a typical teen as it appeared Sammy and Harry were, he knew that he would never survive. He was grateful for Dean's level head and had hoped that the slightly older boy would be able to help him deal with the other two teens, but right now he had his doubts.

At the back of his mind, he'd always thought the demon would kill him, but seeing all three of his sons gathered around Bobby's kitchen table and, given the emotionally fraught state they were all currently in, he knew that it would not be the demon that did him in, but the three hormonal teenagers seated in front of him. He could already see his obituary: _Survived by his three sons, Dean, Harry, Sam and their stalwart Uncle Bobby. Gray well before his years, his heart gave out suddenly, but not unexpectedly as he tried to figure out his sons._

Humoring them, knowing that things were not as bad as they were making them out to be, he looked at Harry supportively, hoping that the kid would be truthful with him.

"And what was it you were hoping he'd forget to have seen?" John asked.

Harry blushed spectacularly and lowered his gaze. John's jaw twitched. He was going to break Harry of that habit one way or another. It was a sign of weakness and he would not tolerate it.

"I'm sure it couldn't have been all that bad," he cajoled.

"Maybe you'd better just show him," Sammy urged, gently nudging him with his elbow.

When Harry made no move to stand or finish what he'd started to say, John turned to Dean, "You got any inkling as to what's gotten into these two?"

He was frustrated and his head was pounding. He pinched the bridge of his nose awaiting his eldest son's answer. He hoped to God that this would not be the pattern for future family discussions because it would put him in an early grave.

"I'm not sure what Sammy saw," Dean hedged, not fully meeting his father's eyes, "but, if it's anything close to what I saw, it's probably worse than what you think." Dean leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, subconsciously mirroring Bobby's position.

"You might as well just show him what I saw earlier," Dean spoke softly, interrupting Harry's inner turmoil.

Telling John was one thing, but showing him? Somehow that was harder and Harry didn't know if he could do that. How would he react? What if he didn't react at all? What if he thought it really wasn't all that big of a deal?

Harry, judging by his brothers' reactions had begun to think that maybe the bruises and the welts were uncustomary and something to be concerned about, but what if John thought differently and was angry with them for making a big deal out of nothing? Could he take the chance that John would see the marks and just brush it off as something that he had deserved and therefore none of his business? Would his father care about the kind of treatment he'd received at the hands of the Dursleys?

Maybe it would make him think that he was nothing more than a troublemaker who needed to be disciplined harshly. Maybe he would step in where Uncle Vernon had left off. Could he really risk having John know how he'd been punished? Would he take a belt to his backside for having made such a fuss about something that he undoubtedly deserved?

Just because he didn't appear to treat Dean or Sammy that way didn't mean that he wouldn't beat him. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had never struck Dudley, just him. Maybe they'd been right in their treatment of him. Maybe he deserved it and John would think so too. Why would things be any different here just because he was John's son too? He hadn't been wanted. The Dursley's were right: he was nothing more than an inconvenience and should never have been born.

"It's really not that big of a deal, Sir," he backpedaled nervously, having lost his resolve to reveal what Sammy and Dean had discovered. "It was all just a big misunderstanding. Everything's alright. Sammy, I'm sorry for fighting with you."

He looked at the younger boy and stood from his chair. The room was getting to be much too crowded for him; he had to get out before the walls closed in on him. Swaying on his feet, he took one step away from the table, but was stopped as a big, strong arm wrapped around his waist.

"Please…" Harry's voice was below a whisper, his eyes shut tight as he was assailed by an onslaught of memories too terrifying for words. He needed to get away. He fought against Bobby's restraining hold on him, clawing ineffectually at the older man's arms as they encircled him.

"A little help here John," Bobby's voice came to him as though from a distance.

He hadn't intended to frighten the boy, but wanted to catch him before he fell and struck his head on the table. His face had drained of all color and he looked all of six years old and yet as though he were carrying the burden of the world on his shoulders. Bobby was certain he'd been about to faint and, as he'd been the closest to Harry, he'd intervened, only to make matters worse.

Harry felt another equally strong set of arms pulling at him and he was soon pressed tight to John, his head resting against the man's chest. The pounding of his father's heart flooded his ears, drowning out his own panicked thoughts.

"What happened?" John questioned over Harry's head.

Harry couldn't hear the answer as it was muffed by John's chest. He'd stopped his futile struggling the minute John's arms had encompassed him. His head swirled with a multitude of confusing and scattered thoughts he couldn't latch onto.

As he listened to John's steady heart beat, things slowly began to come back into focus. There was a detached sense of movement and distorted, wordless voices floated overhead. Then, as soon as it had all begun, it simply stopped.

His own heart rate had slowed to match that of his father's. Breathing had become fractionally easier and, when he opened his eyes, he could see that they were no longer in the kitchen. He'd somehow been transported to the living room. Sammy and Dean were seated on the couch. Bobby sat in the armchair he'd slept in the previous night. Harry and John alone stood in the middle of the dusky room.

Red with embarrassment, Harry pushed away from John and stood unsteadily on his own, an arm's length away from his father who eyed him skeptically. Harry regarded the tops of his shoes. He needed a moment to figure things out before facing the family he'd just inherited.

He didn't understand his reaction to being held by John, why he'd felt…safe and …comfortable and as though nothing in the world would dare harm him. His body tingled from the contact and he itched to return to the security of his father's arms, yet was afraid that if he were to do so, his father would push him away. Such feelings were not the norm for him as he'd never felt safe or secure with the Dursleys or even at Hogwarts. Hogwarts was 'home', but only because he'd finally come to his own and understood that he wasn't the freak or dangerous hoodlum he'd been accused of being at the Dursleys.

Harry sifted through his memories, trying to recall a time when he'd felt as he had when his father's arms encased him. The foreign feeling lingered, though he was no longer in his father's warm embrace and he tried to place a time when he'd felt it before, but was coming up empty. The Dursleys, even when he was no more than a toddler, had never come close to touching him in such an intimate manner.

As he hurriedly sorted through his past, casting aside memory after memory, one gradually floated to the surface. It was the first time he'd ever felt as though someone might truly love him for who he was, and it had happened just last year when he'd discovered that Sirius Black was his godfather and he'd invited him to live with him.

As Harry pondered the recollection, he found that it paled miserably in comparison to the feeling he'd just experienced and which continued to abide with him in spite of the fact that John was no longer touching him. He knew that, were he to cast the Patronus charm right now, this would be the feeling he'd recall. He wondered offhandedly whether the form of his Patronus would be altered with the change of impetus.

"Harry," John's tired voice broke through the silence that had fallen over the house. He was really and truly worried now.

Harry looked up and was taken aback by the look he saw on John's face. He didn't look angry, like Harry half expected him to. Instead, he looked concerned and as though he was looking for some way to make things better. It was disturbing. Harry couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that someone could feel that way about him. He was so used to seeing a look of revulsion on the faces of those entrusted to his care that he didn't know how to respond to this.

The look of yearning and burgeoning trust in his son's eyes had John at a loss for what to say and do. Harry was looking at him the way Dean had when they'd first lost Mary. He didn't know if he would be able to give Harry what he needed. He knew that he had let his eldest son down, hadn't been there for him in the way he had needed him to be, and now, here was the son he and Marry had been robbed of, standing in front of him, staring at him with that same lost and needy look out of glassy green eyes which mimicked Dean's.

"Son," his voice broke on the word as Harry's eyes shone bright with wistful longing, "I know that you don't really know me or Dean or Sammy or Bobby. That we are, for all intents and purposes, strangers and you have no cause to trust us, but I'd," he exhaled, "I'd really like you to share with me what happened. No matter what it is, I give you my word that I won't be mad at you or your brothers and that I won't hurt you. We're family, no matter what."

He knew Harry needed to hear those words, though it would never cross his mind to intentionally hurt his boys, Harry didn't know that. Harry continued to stare at him, a measuring look in his eyes. John understood that no matter what it was Harry told him, he'd need to keep his cool because his son would be judging him and he desperately did not want to be found wanting. If he overreacted, or if he brushed off whatever was bothering him, he might lose Harry forever. He didn't want that.

Inhaling nervously, Harry gathered every ounce of courage he had. This was not the same as facing monsters or even the Dursleys, if anything, it was scarier than all of that put together. Harry was being asked to bare, for an audience of four, one of his most intimately kept secrets.

"Like I said," he spoke hesitantly, "it's not really a big deal."

He shrugged, not sure he wanted to reveal such a private matter in such a public forum. The bruises and marks on him weren't a big deal, they were just part and parcel of his lot in life, and yet, he was reluctant to show them to John. Sammy or Dean finding out by accident was one thing, but intentionally allowing others to witness one of his greatest humiliations, that was another thing altogether.

"Harry, please trust me," John pleaded. "Obviously your brothers feel that it is a big deal or they wouldn't have encouraged you to tell me."

He looked over to the couch where his other two sons were watching them. They were subdued and even Dean looked serious. That alone had him reconsidering his initial thoughts that Harry was blowing things out of proportion. Not a lot outside of his family being hurt troubled Dean.

"Have you been hurt?" The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Harry shook his head and backed a step away. John narrowed his eyes as it dawned on him that Sammy had not merely caught his brother doing something mildly embarrassing when he'd surprised him in the bathroom. He'd seen something which had bothered him, the kind of thing which would cause his eldest son to take notice and it sparked an alarm in him. _How the hell can you be so damn slow on the uptake, John?_ He chastised himself.

"Sammy," John looked at his youngest boy, "I'd like you to tell me what you saw."

"I promised Harry that I wouldn't," his voice was small and tinny.

He'd given Harry his word and wasn't going to renege on it now. Brothers didn't do that to each other. If Harry didn't think what he'd seen was all that important, then maybe it wasn't. He should never have said anything. It had just made things worse and had led to them being cross-examined. He really needed to stop and think things through before opening his big mouth. He hadn't intended to get Harry, Dean or him in trouble with their Dad, but low and behold he had. He really sucked as a brother.

"Dean," John looked to his oldest boy for help.

"I think it's for Harry to decide," he spoke matter-of-factly, not quite meeting his father's eyes.

Dean really wanted to get it all over with and tell John what he'd seen. He didn't have a clue what Sammy had seen, though it mattered very little, he'd seen enough to know that his father would not be happy with him for not telling him immediately. He wouldn't be content with the excuse that Sammy had come up with or his own reluctance to speak.

"Harry, we are not going to judge you or think any less of you," Bobby, almost forgotten in his corner of the living room, offered his own words of encouragement.

He'd pieced together, from his observations of the middle boy in the short time he'd known him, a somewhat tenuous idea of what might have been discovered by his brothers. If he was right, it wasn't going to be pretty and John would not be able to keep his promise not to get mad. Maybe it would show him not to make promises he couldn't keep.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" Flustered, Harry looked at each of them in turn, as though trying to see if the reason was written on their faces. "We've only just met and…and why do you care?" He sank down on the couch between Sammy and Dean.

"You're family," Dean said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He placed his hand on Harry's knee and was surprised that the boy didn't flinch as he had earlier. He waited for another odd display of earth quaking or wind storms and was relieved when the air in the room remained undisturbed.

'Yeah," Sammy added, "we're brothers and brothers care about each other." He placed a hand on Harry's other knee. "Dad cares about you and Bobby too. We're family."

Both men nodded soberly. The sincerity behind the words made Harry almost want to trust what he'd said. But, the Dursleys had been 'family' too and yet, they'd hurt him. Family clearly meant something different to the Winchesters.

Harry wasn't sure how to proceed. Every eye in the room was on him. He wanted to trust them, but was afraid that they'd make fun of him. Though Sammy and Dean had not done so thus far, it was something Dudley or those in his gang would have. Hell, his aunt and uncle would have joined them. But, as he glanced from Bobby to John and Dean to Sammy, not a single face held a look of amusement at his discomfiture.

"It's nothing, really," he tried once again to get them to drop it and let him be, but they didn't look away or nod in agreement. "I mean, it's something that I'm used to." He shrugged, hoping that they'd take him at his word and that he really wouldn't have to show them anything.

Sammy furrowed his brow as he puzzled over how his brother could be used to having such marks on his back. Were they always there? What about the bruises that Dean had uncovered on Harry's arm? How could someone be used to that, unless they were a hunter? His Dad and brother often came home with numerous bruises and a variety of other marks and wounds, but Harry wasn't a hunter, was he?

"Maybe you could," Dean gestured to Harry's arm, "you know; just move your sleeve up."

"Or you could just take your shirt off," Sammy suggested, knowing that, though the bruises were painful looking, his back had looked much worse and their father would be unable to see that if Harry just pushed his sleeves up.

Shivering, Harry bit his bottom lip. _It's now or never_, he decided. Gulping, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and, in one fluid motion, lifted it up and over his head.


	15. How Dare Anyone Part I

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

**A/N:**This story is AU for both universes. Multiple POVs are expressed.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to review. It's been awhile, here's the new chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

How Dare Anyone Part I.

"Son of a bitch," John couldn't help the curse that escaped his lips. It was low, almost spoken under his breath and yet it seemed to echo in the quiet that had descended upon Bobby's living room the moment Harry removed his baggy tee-shirt.

It took some time before John's voice was able to work again after that, and Harry shivered beneath the intensity of the man's silent scrutiny. John knelt before his son, raking his fingers gingerly over the various bruises covering his thin form, eliciting goose bumps in their wake.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting to see when Harry finally removed his shirt, but it wasn't the purpling and mottled skin which covered his chest, shoulders and upper arms. All areas, he noted dispassionately, which could be easily covered up by the overlarge, loose-fitting clothing that Harry wore. Closing his eyes briefly to bring his broiling temper under control, he ran a wary hand over his face before looking at Harry once more.

"Dean?" His eyes darted over to his eldest son, searching for answers. Dean, white as a sheet and trembling slightly with what John assumed must be anger, looked just as shocked as he felt. Dean shook his head imperceptibly, letting him know that he hadn't known about Harry's injuries.

"Sammy?"

His youngest son's eyes were wide as saucers and glimmered with unshed tears in the dim light. His expressive brown eyes were locked on Harry's bruised chest. Hands fisted tightly at his side, he seemed to be struggling not to give into an enraged outburst. John had only seen his youngest this way on one other occasion, and he'd been on the receiving end of that formidable anger at the time as Sammy had been irate when he'd punished Dean for allowing his younger brother to get hurt.

The boy just didn't understand how important he was to him, thought he was being unfair to Dean and had accused him of being an 'overgrown big-assed bully' and a 'jerk', if he remembered correctly. Sammy had been impressive that day, and though John had rebuked him and gotten into what could only be described pleasantly as a yelling match which Dean ended up refereeing, he also had to admit, though not to his cross son, that he was proud of how Sammy had stood up to him.

It looked to him like Harry could use some of Sammy's righteous indignation on his side, though it would need to be directed at the right people. It looked as though Sammy was about ready to go off on his new brother and John had a sinking suspicion as to why.

"Sammy, what do you know about this?" John's question, though quietly spoken, caused the youngest Winchester to jerk as if he'd been slapped.

Wincing slightly and clearing his throat, Sammy spoke softly, "I only saw his back."

How had he missed seeing the bruises? If he had seen them, he would've run down the stairs double-time and gotten their father, no matter what Harry tried to say to dissuade him.

The marks on his brother's back had been bad enough, but this was even worse. Either he'd gotten on the bad side of a really angry ghost or he'd been hit by a truck. Nothing else in Sammy's world could explain the numerous bruises covering his brother's body.

He should never have promised Harry that he wouldn't tell their dad. He knew his dad would be angry with him, but that wasn't what bothered him the most about it. What bothered him the most was that Harry had planned to keep all of them in the dark about it.

It irked him that Harry didn't trust them enough to tell them about his injuries though he was in obvious pain. Anyone with that many dark bruises would be. Yet, Harry hadn't let on that he'd been in any pain at all and acted as though they were the enemy when all they were doing was trying to help him. Whatever had hurt Harry, he knew with a certainty borne of personal experience that Dean, his Dad or Bobby would take care of it. He wished Harry could see that too.

Sparked by Sammy's quietly spoken words, Dean casually leaned back against the couch and he surreptitiously glanced at Harry's back. His eyes narrowed in fury and he exhaled audibly. He grasped Harry's shoulders almost painfully and carefully readjusted his brother to look more closely at the marks on his lower back. Harry's breath hitched in his throat, and he stiffened as Dean's fingers gently caressed the inflamed welts.

_What the hell? Had this been what Sammy had seen in the bathroom? Why the fuck hadn't he mentioned it? What the hell had he been thinking? Sammy knows better than to mess around with infections. _

"Dad," Dean's voice held an urgent tone, "You need to see this."

John supplanted Dean's seat next to Harry and shot Dean a piercing look after he'd cursorily appraised Harry's lower back.

"Did you know about this?" His voice was sharp, accusatory.

Dean shook his head emphatically; if he'd been aware of the reddened, infected marks on Harry's back, he would've told his father right away. Infection was not something to mess around with. He knew that from personal experience and wondered how the hell Harry had managed to spend the entire morning walking around with him and Sammy as they explored Bobby's place. If he was right in his judgment, the infection had set in a day or two ago and must've been a bitch to put up with. He shook his head wondering how Harry had been able to handle it for so long.

Dean sucked a breath in between his teeth. His Dad was going to run him through the mill when this was over and the excuse that he hadn't known the extent of Harry's injuries was not going to fly. Bottom line was that he'd known something was wrong and hadn't told his father about it immediately, and that was not acceptable. Dean, as the big brother, was the one responsible for notifying their father of any aches or pains that Sammy and now, Harry, were experiencing whether they be big or small.

It had always been his responsibility to make sure his father knew when either Sammy or he was hurt, and while he could sometimes fudge with his own injuries, he'd never done so when it came to Sammy, unless it was something he could handle himself. Harry, though he was new to the Winchester family, would be no different. His father would not be happy with him for having kept this a secret, never mind the fact that he hadn't actually known what it was that he'd been keeping from the older man. He'd messed up, plain and simple and would have to suffer the consequences.

He wished that he hadn't let the matter drop earlier. Harry was hurt far worse than he could even have begun to imagine and the kid had silently suffered with it, not even hinting at being in any kind of pain whatsoever. If it hadn't been for the way he'd flinched and hedged around the issue when he'd questioned him and Sammy, Dean wouldn't have known that anything was wrong at all. _Which means that I'm slipping_. Another thing his father would not be overly happy about.

Whether his father agreed or not, whoever or whatever had hurt his brother like this was going to pay for what they'd done. In blood. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he contemplated exacting an appropriate revenge on the hapless souls who'd caused his brother such grievous injury.

Bobby looked away, not trusting himself to remain calm if he took in the full extent of Harry's injuries. He clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. He wondered if they'd have to make a trip to the hospital in spite of John's hospital avoidance issues. From the brief look he'd gotten, Harry had not only been beaten, but he also appeared to be severely malnourished. The outline of his ribs could be seen. _No wonder the kid hadn't known what to do at the breakfast table_. Had he not been fed on a regular basis or was he one of those kids who just never ate?

Knowing that Harry probably didn't appreciate having all of them eyeballing him in the middle of the living room and feeling slightly out of place, Bobby quietly slid from his armchair and stole away to his study to look for a book which might give him a little insight as to what had happened when John was questioning Harry in the kitchen. If he knew John as well as he thought he did, the elder Winchester would be searching for an answer himself as soon as he'd handled the boys and tended to Harry's injuries.

He sure as heck wouldn't want to be in Dean's shoes after John was done getting to the bottom of what had happened to Harry. Though he disagreed with how much responsibility John laid on his eldest son's shoulders, Bobby knew that no amount of him telling the man to ease up on the kid would break through the thick skull of the mulish man. John was going to come down hard on the boy and Bobby was going to be there for him afterwards. Whether John liked it or not, someone needed to explain to his son that his idiot of a father really did love him, though he rarely showed it and when he did, it often needed an explanation.

He knew John was going to put the bulk of the responsibility for having been kept in the dark about Harry's 'secret' on Dean, much as the onus for raising Sammy had fallen upon his shoulders at much too young an age. He fervently hoped that, with the addition of Harry to the family, John would start pulling his weight as a father, so to speak, but wouldn't hold his breath as he appreciated living far too much to rely upon waiting for John to grow up and man up.

For now, though, he'd do some research on his own, maybe bring a book or two back into the living room with him so that Harry would know that he hadn't abandoned him, though he doubted the boy was even aware that he'd left the room. Might bring him some comfort though, just to be there, not staring at his bruises or his much too thin torso, but just sitting there, reading.

He wanted to get to the bottom of the odd earthquake that had accompanied John's questioning of Harry earlier. There could be some sort of protective spirit attached to him which had reacted to the boy's highly emotional state. Or maybe whatever it was could sense his fear and had reacted to that.

Had Harry unwittingly called upon some spirit of vengeance as a young child? Sometimes the imaginary friends children 'played' with would 'protect' them. Unknown to the child and the parent, the imaginary friend was really a spirit or a demon that would exact a toll later in life. It was rare, but it wasn't something that he was going to overlook, especially after what he'd witnessed earlier when Harry had felt cornered. Whatever it was was mighty powerful and he didn't want Harry to be caught in the crossfire when it decided to demand repayment for services rendered.

Finding one of the books he thought might hold some answers in it: _Guide to Guardians of the Vulnerable and Abused; Artemis' Perspective_, he pulled it from the shelf and, pausing momentarily, blew some of the dust off the cover. Sneezing, he brushed the remainder of the dust off of the ancient tome and cracked it open. _Wonderful, Greek_, he thought ruefully. Well, he'd peruse this one; John could look for answers in another. His Greek might be a little rusty, but he'd bet a dollar to a doughnut that John's was downright nonexistent.

Sighing heavily, he turned from the sanctity of his study, pausing in the doorway. Closing his eyes, he could see, as though etched upon the inner lining of his eyelids themselves, Harry's emaciated, black-and-blue form. He doubted he'd see little else for a great while when he closed his eyes. His ebbing anger momentarily flared and he slammed a fist into the doorjamb, flinching at the pain. Shaking his injured hand and sucking in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, pushing the images of Harry being smacked around out of his mind.

He might not be able to do much for Harry, but he'd figure out just what it was that seemed to have attached itself to him for his protection, whether the kid had inadvertently invited it into his life or not. He'd figure out what it was that had caused that mini-earthquake in his kitchen when Harry had felt cornered and scared before it turned on the boy himself and injured him.

Sooner or later even those spirits or powers which offered protection would exact a heavy payment for their services, whether commissioned intentionally or not, and Bobby was bound and determined to figure out a way to keep Harry safe once this spirit, or whatever the heck it was, realized that Harry was no longer in any danger of being physically abused.

_That, and feed the kid regularly, get some meat on his skinny assed bones, _he thought resolutely as he regained his seat in the living room. With half an eye on the drama unfolding before him and the other half focused on the onerous text, he sat back, determined to find some answers for something that made sense. _'Cause sure as dirt makes for naught but mud pies, the idea of beating a kid 'til he was black-and-blue don't make a lick a sense to me._

"Sammy why the hell didn't you tell me about this sooner?" John's voice was tight with emotion. He shot Sammy a sharp look.

John had to stifle the urge to yell at his youngest son when the boy simply returned his angry glare. The youngest Winchester should have known better than to keep something like this from him. Judging by the redness of the slightly raised marks on Harry's back an infection had set in and, if that was the case, Harry was going to need some antibiotic cream with an analgesic to numb the pain.

If Bobby or he didn't have any on hand, they'd have to make a trip to the local drugstore and hope that a non-prescription generic brand would be sufficient. There should be some of the stuff left from when Dean had that nasty run in with the poltergeist a couple of months ago, though. At least he hoped so. If not, or if the infection had spread into Harry's bloodstream, he would need to take him to the hospital and he didn't know how the hell he was going to explain the vast array of bruises and belt marks which marred his son's skin without having social services stepping in to rectify the situation.

"You should have told me right away," he chastised, trying in vain to keep his voice even as he could sense Harry watching him warily out of the corner of his eye.

The boy was skittish enough and with good reason, he really didn't want to scare him by losing his temper. He knew that he'd have to be careful around him, though he felt his resolve crumbling as each second ticked away and the knowledge that the sick bastard who'd dared to lay a finger on his son was walking around freely, without a care in the world. _So help me Mary, if I get my hands on the bastards who did this to our son…_

"I know," Sammy whispered, swallowing hard around the lump that had formed in his throat. He'd thought that he would be able to convince Harry to speak to their Dad on his own and that it wouldn't matter if he didn't speak up right away. He'd screwed up way worse than he had at any other time in his life and that was saying something.

"I made him promise not to," Harry spoke softly, worried for his younger brother as John's focus had shifted from him to the other boy and the man had gotten markedly angrier.

He knew, from personal experience, that when an adult got angry, someone, usually him, got hurt. He didn't want Sammy or Dean to get hurt, especially not when their father was angry because of him. It wasn't right for Sammy to take the blame or the forthcoming punishment for him.

It was his fault that John was questioning Sammy and Dean. It wasn't right for them to suffer on his behalf. They'd done nothing wrong; the blame lay solely on his shoulders. His brothers were not responsible, he was.

"Please don't be angry with Sammy," Harry's voice trembled.

Shifting on the couch, he turned his bright, green eyes to John, pleading with the older man. "I made him promise not to tell you. It's not Sammy's fault. He didn't do anything wrong, please…please don't hurt him."

"Harry," John's heart dropped as his son voiced his fear, "I'm not going to hurt Sammy or you, or Dean…" he promised, hoping that Harry would believe him.

Harry stared back at him, processing his words, searching his eyes for the truth. John felt him tense and willed himself to calm down before he lost Harry entirely, but his son's frantic breathing accompanied by his wide-eyed panic only served to increase his anger at those who'd hurt him. If only Harry had been his and Mary's…

"You can trust him, Harry," Dean's voice, thick with emotion wafted over from where he'd perched himself on the arm of the couch, "he…Dad… won't hurt you or Sammy or me." He managed a half-smile when Harry looked over at him. "He's not like that. You can trust him…us." He gestured to encompass Bobby, Sammy, his father and himself and was reward with a timid smile from Harry in return.

"Cross my heart," he crossed his heart with two fingers and winked at Harry, hoping to relieve some of the tension in the room which had taken on a claustrophobic air.

Harry relaxed marginally and John sighed in relief. Shooting his eldest son a grateful look, he decided to change tactics.

"Can you tell me how long ago you got those marks on your back?" John asked in as calm a voice as he could muster, praying silently to Mary for guidance as Harry remained recalcitrant in his silence.

Harry shook his head in response, honestly not sure if it had happened a day or three days ago. His concept of time had become completely warped with Dumbledore's announcement that James and Lily weren't his biological parents, the near attack of the Death Eaters, his flight to America, and meeting his new family.

"Was it a day ago or a week ago?" John prompted, growing more and more frustrated as seconds grew slowly into minutes while he waited for Harry's response.

Harry bit his lower lip in concentration. "I'm not sure, maybe a couple days ago?" He shrugged. Uncomfortable with John's unwavering study of him, he dropped his gaze.

"What have you done to take care of it?" John hedged around the question he really wanted to ask, desperately wanting to take his anger out on someone before he exploded.

Harry didn't understand what the big deal was. His back had been in far worse shape than this many times before and no one had ever fussed over the injuries he'd sustained. It had been deemed as proper punishment for misbehavior, or freakiness, in his previous home. He'd endured a number of infections accompanied by fevers and had survived without the aid of medicine, magical potions, or even someone caring for him in the past and was more than prepared to do so now.

Harry raised tired eyes to John, "I…I tried to wash it, but it hurt too much and, I…I," Harry dropped his eyes once more, ashamed; "I had to stop so I wouldn't pass out," the last words came out in a murmured rush.

That had only happened once before, after a particularly severe punishment when he'd gotten on the wrong side of his uncle. His Aunt Petunia had actually had the grace to cleanse his wound, put some salve on it and put him to bed within his cramped cupboard. She'd even had the common decency to toss in a recently laundered blanket and had doled him servings of lukewarm soup, with crackers, some orange juice, and plenty of water to help break his fever. It was one of his most treasured memories, but as it turned out, it hadn't been quite enough to summon a Patronus.

He was deeply ashamed at displaying his innate weakness before the entirety of his new family. He should have been strong enough to take care of his injuries by himself. He'd always been so in the past, aside from that one time, and couldn't quite fathom why he wasn't healing quickly this time around. John's question, and his answer to it, merely solidified what he'd already known to be true about himself, that he was pathetic, unable to defend himself against a mere Muggle and equally incapable of handling minor injuries on his own.

John placed a hand on Harry's knee. He fought back tears of frustration, anger and pity for his son. "I'm so sorry Harry."

"'S okay," Harry looked up at John, wondering why he was sorry. He'd done nothing wrong. It was all Harry's fault, not John's.

It wasn't as if he'd been the one who hit him after all, though if the anger he read in the man's eyes was anything to go by, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to escape his wrath for long. There was a small, soft voice in the back of his mind reassuring him that John had promised he would not hurt him and Dean had backed up his father's promise, even so, he wasn't sure whether he could trust that voice quite yet.

"Who did this to you?" John feared the answer, but he had to know who'd hurt his son so that he could do something about it and make sure that it never happened again and that the bastards paid for what they'd done to his son.

He hoped that the boy's family, his surrogate family, had not been the ones who'd inflicted so much pain on him because that would mean his son had suffered through years of such abuse rather than it being a onetime thing. In his heart, he knew that was not the case.

Harry had been far too accepting of his injuries, had tried to hide them from them and was terrified, even now, that he was going to hit him, refusing to trust him because his trust had been broken one too many times in the past. He could see it in Harry's eyes; his son had been systematically abused, possibly from day one of his stay with his aunt and uncle.

The way the boys had behaved in the kitchen had not prepared him for this. He'd expected something vastly different. Something far less disquieting. Boys who grew up in 'normal' homes should be nursing bloodied noses from an occasional fistfight which accompanied childhood spats or getting scraped knees tended to, not carrying the traces of adult-sized fingers on their arms or nursing bruised ribs.

His son's head was bowed in shame and he wrapped his slender arms about himself, as though trying to hide what could now be plainly seen. It took awhile for John to find his voice again, and when he did, it came out hoarse and choked. There was tightness in his chest and throat and he had to cough to clear it enough to speak.

"Who did this to you?" He feared he was sounding like a broken record, and yet he desperately needed an answer to his question.

He needed to find the sons of bitches who'd done this to his son, Mary's son, and make them pay and he needed to be right. It was not something he could guess at, not when it came time for those who'd hurt his son to pay for their crimes. He wanted to make sure that only those who were truly guilty were punished and the ideas of how they'd pay for what they'd done, which were running through his head, well, it wouldn't be right to inflict such atrocities on an innocent party. He had to make damn sure that it was the family his son had been living with all these years and not someone at his boarding school or a neighbor or something else before he made his plans for retribution.

His anger was once more beginning to surface and he knew that unless he had a proper outlet for it, it was going to come out sideways and that would cause Harry to panic, ruining any chance of gaining his son's trust. He knew that he needed to tread carefully around his new son, but he also knew himself, and that he would be unable to hold onto his temper for much longer. As a matter of fact, he didn't know how he'd been able to keep himself from exploding thus far.

_Oh God, Mary, help me through this. Just what the hell did those monsters do to my…our… son to make him so frightened that he won't even tell me their names?_

He looked over Harry's trembling form, seeing all of the bruises he'd kept hidden beneath that damn oversized tee-shirt. How many times had his boy been beaten until he was a veritable kaleidoscope of purples, yellows, blacks and browns? Harry was how old? Going on fourteen? How many times had he been left broken and battered to care for himself over the course of fourteen years? Once? Twice? A hundred times? Did it matter? Once was more than enough.

_I'm sorry Mary, I can't do this. I'm not cut out for this. Harry needs you, not me. All I want to do is get my hands on the son-of-a-bitch who did this to our son and squeeze the life out of him after letting a demon ride his sorry ass to hell and back first. Maybe if…you and I…you would have known how to help Harry. I don't know what to do Mary. Show me what to do before I mess him up even worse than I've done with Dean and Sammy, _he fervently pleaded.

He breathed heavily in and out of his nose to quell his mounting desire to shout in anger. Closing his eyes to gain a measure of control, he rubbed at his throbbing temples, willing the red hot fury to fade away into the background until he was facing those responsible for his son's injuries. Ghosts, demons, poltergeist and other supernatural creatures inflicting pain on a person was one thing, but for a man or a woman to lay a hand on a child who was much smaller and more vulnerable than they were, it was unconscionable. That thought alone had him seriously considering murdering a flesh-and-blood human being in cold blood for the first time in his life.

Opening his eyes, he looked over at Dean who was perched quietly on the arm of the sofa beside Sammy; his eyes were focused on one particularly nasty bruise which ran the length of Harry's shoulder. His gut churned painfully as he recalled the various bruises and broken bones Dean had borne over the years, courtesy of the lifestyle of hunting he'd chosen for him. How was he any different than the fuckers who'd done this to Harry?

Sure, he hadn't ever raised a fist in anger toward his son or grabbed his arm so hard that he'd bruised it or taken a belt to him or thrown him across a room or done anything else which could be construed as physical abuse, but he'd allowed his son to be hurt by supernatural forces. He'd chastised and hounded him about caring for Sammy until his eldest son's first and, more than likely, only thought was about his youngest brother's safety over and above his own.

A window to his soul, small, cramped and slightly dirty, had been opened and suddenly he saw how what Dean had suffered over the years as he was called away from one hunt to the next was similar to the abuse Harry had undoubtedly suffered at the hands of those he'd thought were his relatives. How could he, knowing the damage he'd caused his eldest son over the years through neglect and the damnable Winchester pride he'd all but instilled in him through his nearly incessant pushing and militaristic orders even begin to gain Harry's trust?

_Mary, I'm sorry, I've really fucked things up. I hope to God that you can forgive me. Please, help me help our son. I'm sorry for how I've treated Dean…Sammy…over the years. I know that I've not given them the life you'd have wanted for them. Help me not to mess up with Harry too. He could use your love, your smile, your comfort. Mary, I'm begging, I need your guidance; you were always the more level-headed parent. Please, tell me…show me what to do. I promise anything…everything. I promise I'll change if that's what you want. Please…please just show me what to do._

Swallowing, he blinked, hard, regretting immediately as he did so. For, momentarily, in the literal blink of an eye, he saw, bright as day, his late wife seated on the couch next to Harry.

Her translucent, slender arms were wrapped in a tight, ghostly embrace around Harry as if trying to comfort and protect the shivering boy. Her long blonde hair fanned Harry's face as she pressed her pale, crimson lips to the top of his head. Suddenly, her gaze shifted and John was pierced with a gimlet glare. Her green eyes bore into his and his breath left him in a rush of air.

_John, just love him. Love all three of them. Forget about the yellow-eyed-demon for now. Right now, your sons need you. Harry needs you. _Her eyes flitted over to Dean and Sammy before settling briefly on Harry. When she turned her eyes back to him; they sparked with anger, M_ake them pay for what they did to my baby,_ Mary's voice, heavy with pain and grief seemed to echo in his mind. _You promise me that you'll make them pay._ He blinked, and like that, she was gone.

For a moment the words whirled in his mind, making him dizzy, causing him to question his sanity. And yet, he was certain that it was Mary's voice and not a figment of his imagination or the trick of a demon. It had been as real as it had the night before when he'd debated about signing the papers and taking Harry from the social workers.

How was it possible? How had his wife reached out to him from beyond the grave? He'd seen her burn in bright orange flames; it shouldn't be possible and yet, there was no other explanation, unless he believed in angels or benevolent spirits who protected their loved ones even after death.

He'd read books about such spirits when he'd first lost Mary and lived with hope which some had mistakenly called denial that somehow he'd be able to get her back. According to the books, these benevolent spirits offered their loved ones guidance working through intuition or conscience. They rarely, though occasionally, when warranted, if he believed the books he'd read about it, crossed the line into direct conversation with their loved one lest he or she be driven mad or believe themselves to be insane.

He understood why direct conversation was a rarity as it caused him, even now, to question his sanity, though he wouldn't trade these two recent experiences for soundness of mind. Whether they were real or not, he was going to act on them. Over the years, when he stopped long enough to acknowledge it, he'd felt Mary's guiding presence, but had brushed it off as longing or imaginative ponderings brought about by tiredness or drinking too much.

Neither Bobby nor Dean had stirred or seemed to even be aware of her apparitional presence. Sammy seemed equally oblivious, but Harry seemed to have sensed her presence as he relaxed a little bit more. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of his son's mouth and John wondered if he'd felt his mother's ghostly arms encircling him.

_I promise, Mary. They'll pay for what they've done to your baby boy, our son._ _They'll regret having laid a hand on him if I have to call upon demons born in the deep recesses of hell to exact a proper vengeance._


	16. How Dare Anyone Part II

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

**A/N: **This story is AU for both universes; horcruxes and Voldemort non-canon. Multiple POVs are expressed. Allusion to Matthew 10: 16 of the New Testament. Apep - watersnake demon of chaos and enemy of Ra.

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How Dare Anyone Part II

Vestiges of Mary, flickering memories flittered through John's mind. He could feel her presence, strengthening him, giving him the courage to face what his son had suffered through so many years in his absence. Would things have been much better for their son had Harry grown up with him, Dean and Sammy? Would he merely be covering up different wounds, those of neglect, others of a physical nature visited upon him by some supernatural entity?

"Who did this to you?" John repeated his question, needing an answer, needing an appropriate outlet for the rage building up in him before he exploded. His voice shook with the intensity of his ill-concealed anger.

"I..." Harry shivered, "I…" he couldn't make his lips form the words. Couldn't give them the voice they needed.

John was giving him a look he couldn't quite fathom. It was one he'd never seen before, not even in Sirius' eyes, and his godfather was known as an impatient man easily given to anger. And John's eyes, while they held the bitter flames of anger with which Harry was intimately familiar, held an element of something else that Harry could not clearly identify. He found that, while John's anger was making him uncomfortable, there was something else there which made him feel as though maybe, just maybe everything would be okay.

Yet he'd been told for many years that he wouldn't be believed if he told others what his uncle, aunt and cousin did to him or that those he told would take one look at him and know that he deserved to be treated the way he was because he was a useless freak. He couldn't, in good conscience, deny that the Dursleys had a point. His parents had died because of him. Cedric too. Ginny's life had almost been lost because of Voldemort's maniacal attempt to gain a corporeal body to take revenge on him. All of that was enough to make him a freak and then some.

It was impossible for him to voice what had happened. The fear that if he told on his uncle and aunt, he'd suffer much worse treatment had been instilled in him from an early age and it stole his words. The threat that if he ever told what happened to him at home, he'd face a punishment which would make him beg for death in the end stilled his tongue.

He knew that he was no longer in the Dursleys' care, that he was even on a different continent, a whole ocean away, yet he could not stop the irrational fear of incurring his Uncle Vernon's wrath from sending him into a blind panic. Visions of what the man would do to him if he told kept him silent and told him to lie.

"I was being punished because I was bad," he finished in a dull, quiet voice void of all emotion.

Maybe if he told a version of the truth that Uncle Vernon would approve of, things would be okay. He could picture Vernon's face, red, spittle flying from lips purple with rage prodding him to tell his father the truth that he was and would always be a freak and burden. The words, much to his frustration at his weakness, would not surface.

He refused to look at anyone, not wanting to see their looks of pity or chastisement. Not wanting to have his former family's dire predictions confirmed by seeing looks of disgust on the faces of each of the Winchesters and Bobby.

"I…um that is… Uncle Vernon was mad…er…because, I…" Harry's face was red as he tried to put into words what had happened, "that is…it really was my fault." He met John's gaze straight on and swallowed in fear as John's eyes blazed with anger and disbelief.

"So, your uncle did this to you?" John clarified. His voice was cold and hard.

Harry stiffened before nodding. He could tell that John didn't believe him and wondered when the first blow would fall. Would the man hit him in front of his family or would he bring him upstairs to mete out his punishment?

"Your uncle hurt you?" Sammy's soft words cut into Harry's fear-filled ruminations, causing him to look up sharply.

Sammy gave him a puzzled look mixed with unmitigated shock as though the younger boy couldn't understand what he'd said. It confused Harry and caused him, for the first time since his arrival, to have a measure of hope that things really might be different with the Winchesters. Maybe they wouldn't view him as a freak or a nuisance, or believe that he was filled with an unnaturalness which needed to be beaten out of him.

Sammy's eyes darted over to Bobby whose fingers dug into the stiff pages of the book he held on his lap. Though Sammy had heard the soft rustling of pages turning every so often, he doubted that Bobby was paying any attention to what he was reading because, every now and again, he'd catch the man glancing furtively at Harry and his dad. Dean clenched his fists tightly at his side, standing abruptly to pace the length of the room until he stood within the shadows.

"It wasn't really his fault," Harry looked at his younger brother, his eyes pleading with him to understand.

"See, I…I kept having these nightmares and waking everyone up in the middle of the night. They…we weren't getting much sleep," he chewed his bottom lip nervously as he spoke, "He warned me that if I didn't stop having them he'd have to punish me. I…"

Harry remembered what he'd done that night to prevent waking his family up; how he'd done everything in his power to stay awake and when he'd started drifting to sleep, how he'd stuffed an old, worn tee-shirt into his mouth in hopes that it would stifle his eventual screams. It hadn't worked.

Sammy drew in a sharp breath. He had nightmares, especially when his dad was out on a hunt and he often woke Dean up in the middle of the night crying or sometimes even screaming in fear. Dean had never punished him for them, though. He hadn't even made fun of him for having them. He couldn't imagine Dean or his father ever threatening him or warning him not to wake them with a nightmare.

Nightmares were impossible to control, weren't they? How could Harry's uncle hurt him because he'd had a nightmare? Dean always woke him and held him, whispering words of comfort against his ear as he babbled or cried. He'd then stay with him until he was able to fall asleep again. Dean had never yelled at him for having a nightmare or groused at him for not getting a good night's sleep after one.

"I tried to stay awake," he rambled on as the events of that evening flashed across his mind in pinpoint clarity. "But I couldn't and my uncle, Uncle Vernon, he unlocked the bolts on my room and…"

Harry allowed his voice to trail off, not wanting to finish the rest of the story, hoping that they'd understand what had happened without him having to spell it all out. He didn't want to dredge up the memory of how many times he'd been struck or his uncle's red face or how spittle was sprayed into his face as his uncle shouted at him, reminding him of how much he deserved the punishment and that he was a freak and needed to stop being such a screw-up, in little more than a stage whisper each time the belt struck his bared backside.

John's eyes watered and he looked away from Harry. He was afraid that if he continued to watch his son stumble over his words as he formulated excuses for his uncle that he'd fly into a blind rage. One word reverberated through his mind again and again, the image it gave him threatened to tear him apart at the seams, bolt…Harry's uncle had to unlock bolts to get to his son.

What kind of man locked a child up in such a manner? Had his son been effectively jailed for the entirety of his stay with these relatives of Lily's? When he and Mary had met her, she'd seemed decent enough. Mary had trusted her and that had been enough for him, but as he listened to Harry, he began to wonder whether that trust had been misplaced. Had his and Mary's gut been off that day? Was Lily the type of person who would abuse and abase a child or, had she lived, would Harry have been loved and properly cared for?

Bolts…he heard them slamming and clicking into place, trapping his son. Bolts…placing Harry completely at the mercy of his tormentors, those who should've loved and cared for him in his, Mary's and Lily's stead. Bolts…bolts…bolts, bolts, bolts. John's hands clenched tightly until his nails dug painfully into the palms of his calloused hands. What the hell else has his son been subjected to? Did he even want to hear more?

Drawing his thoughts away from images of his son trapped in darkness, bleeding, starving, desperately in need of medical attention, he attempted to focus on what Harry was saying as his son had once again taken up his explanation of the event which led to the marks on his back. Why hadn't the social workers informed him? How had no one noticed the abuse? Had his son been ignored all these years?

"He said that if I was going to be waking the family up in the middle of the night with my crying out, then he'd give me something to cry about," Harry finished in a whisper. His eyes, unfocused, stared at the floor. "I tried, really, not to cry out…" his words trailed off into nothingness.

John seethed on the inside as he imagined his son being roused roughly from a nightmare and beaten mercilessly with a belt, all the while being told that he deserved it, that it was a fitting punishment. If he ever got his hand on Harry's Uncle Vernon, and by god he would, the man would know what a true, fitting punishment was. _So help me Mary…_

"What did he use?" John knew the answer to the question, but wanted to verify it and to get Harry talking about what had happened to him. Somehow it seemed imperative to him that he get his son talking.

"His belt," he whispered, shrugging.

Ashamed, Harry looked away again. He'd been hit with an ordinary Muggle belt. He doubted that Draco Malfoy would've let something so humiliating happen to him. Ron either.

Sammy's eyes bore into him. He tried to imagine Bobby doing something like that to him or Dean; it was unfathomable. Even if he were to make the man really, really mad, he didn't think Bobby would hit him with a belt until he bled. He'd thought that Harry had been hurt by a ghost or maybe had gotten into some kind of accident, like what had sometimes happened to his Dad or Dean or even Bobby, but he'd been hurt by a member of his own family. Incomprehension warred with reason as Sammy struggled to understand that there were people in the world who hurt children. He wanted to get his hands on Harry's uncle and beat some sense into the man as the man had beaten his brother.

"How many times did he hit you?" John spoke his words as calm and evenly as he could, yet Harry could hear the simmering fury dogging each word and fear, like bile, rose in his throat.

"Um, three, I think?" Harry shrugged.

It really wasn't that big a deal after all. This hadn't even been the worst beating he'd received from his uncle. Why would someone caring about it now make a difference? He'd spent many nights in his cupboard silently crying and praying for a rescuer and no one had come. This 'rescue', if it could be called that, was coming much too late, he no longer needed to be helped. He'd become resigned to his fate and had learned how to avoid the majority of his family's castigation.

Had Dumbledore known what was happening to him at the Dursleys all along and finally decided to rectify it? Is that why he had been placed with the Winchesters? Was the elderly wizard who controlled so many facets of his life to blame for all of his suffering at the hands of the Dursleys in the first place?

The thought of Dumbledore placing him there as a young, innocent child to be broken by their rough and brutal handling generated a flash of anger toward the old wizard such as he'd never felt before. He felt as though he was a snake, coiled, ready to strike and that when he saw Dumbledore again, he'd not only bare his fangs, but would willingly sink them into the wizard's wrinkled flesh. This strange train of thought terrified him and Harry shook himself, forcing the puzzling, overwhelming anger down. He'd examine it later when he was alone.

"At least, well…I kind of lost track after three anyway," he mumbled, looking steadfastly at a dark spot on the floor between his feet. It kind of looked like a misshapen smiley face. He frowned. He was embarrassed that he couldn't even remember how many times his uncle had hit him.

He should remember something as simple as that. It wasn't as though it were a tough question, really, but while his uncle was hitting him, he'd let his mind drift to what had happened to Cedric in the cemetery with Voldemort and had lost track of where he was let alone how many times the belt had come down on his bared flesh.

Additionally, his uncle's snarled words had hammered into him, harder than each strike of his belt. He shook himself, trying to clear his head of the images that swamped his mind as he struggled to recall the number of times the belt had made contact with his exposed back.

"How often did he hit you with his belt?" John fisted a hand in his lap, working his jaw painfully in an attempt to keep his anger under control.

It was clear that Harry had been hit too many times for him to count and he shuddered to think of what churlish words had accompanied his son's _punishment_. Abusers, he knew, liked to make their victims feel the brunt of the responsibility for their mistreatment. They took sadistic pleasure in inflicting pain on someone who couldn't fight back and it made him sick to know that his son had suffered at the hands of someone who clearly found gratification in harming him.

He was quickly losing the battle over maintaining control on his anger when Harry flinched at the question. He knew that he wouldn't get an honest answer from the boy and made a silent vow that Harry would never flinch from him in fear. No, Harry was not going to flinch in fear of being beaten ever again if he had to travel to and back from Hades dragging the devil with him to exact proper vengeance on Harry's uncle.

"Not too often, just when he got angry, or if he had a particularly bad day at work," Harry's eyes were focused, unseeing, on the same warped spot on the floor, "this last time, he was angry because one of my nightmares had woken him and the family up the night before and he blamed his bad day at work on me. If he had been able to get a decent night's sleep at all for the past week, he would have been able to concentrate better at work..."

"How often did he blame you for his bad days?" John's knuckles grew white as he interrupted Harry's monotonous recollection. It infuriated him that Harry clearly blamed himself for what his uncle had done to him.

"Maybe a couple times a summer after I started attending Hogwarts," Harry mumbled, wrapping his arms around his midsection. He was suddenly cold and felt far too exposed for his comfort.

Harry shivered slightly and Dean stopped his pacing. He abruptly left the room and sprinted up the stairs. Harry's heart dropped as he watched his older brother leave the room, assuming that Dean was far too ashamed of him to stay in the same room. He was a coward. He wished that he would have, just once, stood up to his uncle rather than taking the beating that was his punishment for alleged wrongdoing. The snake within him reared its ugly head and, panicking, he stifled it.

He should have been as brave as he'd been when faced with the basilisk. At the time, he'd been fully prepared to die to save Ginny and the rest of the students at Hogwarts. His own life hadn't mattered to him then, just as it hadn't when he'd been in the cemetery. But somehow things were different when he was at Hogwarts than when he was at home. At Hogwarts he had friends and magic and he sometimes, on rare occasions, had felt safe even though his life had been endangered there as well. Had that too been Dumbledore's fault? The thought angered him.

At Privet Drive, he had only himself to rely upon and accidental magic which had lead only to severe punishments. Magic, as it was displayed in the Muggle world, had brought nothing but terrible hardship to him. Suddenly, he understood Dumbledore's warnings and vowed to keep his magic under control, he wouldn't display accidental magic in the presence of his new family ever again and maybe then he'd be able to have a somewhat normal summer. That is, if the Winchesters and Bobby didn't shun him or turn him out on the street for being cowardly or a freak. Maybe if he didn't screw up as he had earlier outside with Dean and then in the kitchen when he'd been questioned by John, he would be okay and they would allow him to stay for the summer.

"Before you attended Hogwarts?" John's eyes flashed in anger, but Harry was looking away and didn't see how enraged his father was.

"I don't really remember," his voice hardened. He shrugged.

He was tired of the questioning and wished that John would let it drop. He'd already revealed his greatest weakness to the man, what more did he want? His chest felt tight and he struggled to breathe, tiny pinpricks of light flashed before his eyes when he closed them. The snake was slowly uncoiling itself within his belly and he fought to subdue it.

He didn't want to answer any more questions. It wasn't any of John's or Dean's or Sammy's or Bobby's business anyway. According to Dumbledore, he wasn't going to return to the Dursleys. If Dumbledore could be trusted, that is. In the end, what did it matter anyway? Whether he returned to the Dursleys or not, he was still screwed, still nothing more than a coward who'd allowed himself to be beaten. Who'd allowed Cedric to be murdered in his stead. Who couldn't protect himself from his aunt and uncle during the summer and who was left to defend himself, best as he could alone, by the world which vaunted him as a hero. Some hero he turned out to be.

"Harry it's okay, your uncle will not lay a hand on you ever again, I promise," John assured the panicked boy, unclenching his fist to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, "he'll never hit you again."

Harry nodded numbly. Though he'd heard the words John had spoken, he knew they weren't true. There was still a large part of him which knew, deep down, that he would never be safe from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. That same part of him also knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he had deserved every single punishment, every stroke of the belt, every pinch, every slap, every single bruise or broken bone he'd ever received in their care.

He was bad, that's why his uncle hit him, why he was denied food, proper clothing and a decent bed. The snake within nodded its hooded head knowingly and Harry, resigned to the veracity of its claims, gave into its claim over him. Maybe Dumbledore had known all along that this snake of evil resided in him and had sent him to the Dursleys in an attempt to rid him of it, only it hadn't worked so he'd sent him as far away as he possibly could so that he wouldn't have to see and bear its ugly presence.

"Harry, what your uncle did to you was wrong and you didn't deserve to be hit with a belt once, let alone the half a dozen or so times that he hit you. Do you understand me son?" John's voice held some of the rancor he felt toward Harry's uncle, though he attempted to keep his voice calm.

"My uncle," Harry whispered the words; a flash of his uncle's face, contorted in anger caused him to flinch. "He was…that is…I made too much noise," he continued on as though he hadn't heard a word John had spoken. "I always made too much noise…"

The snake, fully present now, let out a low hiss of rebuke.

He was really botching up his explanation, belittling his uncle's temper. It hadn't been just that he'd made too much noise, but that he had been waking the man, the whole family, up night after night and it had taken its toll on all of them. It had left them all on edge and his uncle had kind of snapped. His uncle wasn't to be blamed; it really had been his fault after all for waking him up with the screaming accompanying his nightmares. The snake, satisfied, smirked and settled down to rest.

"I mean…" Harry faltered in his tale, frowning as he tried to decide upon the right words to use.

Though he didn't want John to view him as a burden and see him in the way his aunt and uncle had, he also didn't think it was fair for the man to be angry with his aunt and uncle for how they'd disciplined him over the years. They'd only done what they felt was just and right and necessary to break Harry of bad habits and the freakish things he'd done, to keep this wicked snake within him at bay.

Hadn't that been what Dumbledore had cautioned him about when he'd told him not to perform any magic over the summer and not to reveal that he was a wizard to his new family? Perhaps Dumbledore had known about his uncle's harsh treatment and had condoned it, knowing it to be necessary to keep this snake from rising. Now that he was away from the Dursleys it had been awakened; maybe he'd even told the Dursleys to treat him in that manner. Had the elderly wizard communicated his desires for Harry to be so treated by John, to keep the snake under control? Is that what he'd been alluding to when he'd made Harry promise not to run away no matter what happened?

"And what about the bruises?" John's voice was strained with the effort it took for him not to shout and curse. Harry looked lost in thought.

Startled from his grim musings, Harry shook himself slightly before speaking, "Most of them are from my cousin and his gang."

Harry had fallen victim to his cousin a couple of times in the short period of time he'd been home. He'd just not had the desire or the energy to run away what with Cedric's death and Voldemort's red, hate-filled eyes haunting him. The snake, aroused once more, turned its furious scarlet eyes on him and he gasped as the realization that a small part of Voldemort resided within him struck him with mind-numbing force, for those eyes were unmistakable. They were akin to Voldemort's, iniquity flashed and burned within them and yet they also held something else, something which Harry found intriguing in spite of his repulsion at the damning revelation. He knew, deep down, that his life, before it had really even begun, had been forfeit. To Dumbledore and the rest of the wizarding world, his inevitable death was a necessary sacrifice.

Had that been the real reason Dumbledore had placed him with the Dursleys, to drive Voldemort out of him or had he hoped that they would rid the world of him before he'd even turned eleven? And what now, what had Dumbledore planned for him with the Winchesters? Why had he placed him with them? He'd have to tread carefully around them, be as innocent as a dove, as the saying went, and yet shrewd as a snake.

"And the ones that aren't from your _cousin?"_ John practically spat the final word. Not only had Harry been treated poorly by his aunt and uncle, but his cousin had been in on it too. It made him sick.

"I guess this one," he twisted and pointed to a particularly nasty bruise on his shoulder, "is from when Aunt Petunia grabbed me before I could leave the kitchen to start on my outside chores. One of the dishes hadn't been washed properly or something. I forget. She was just trying to pull me back in before I went outside," he explained.

It really didn't matter. Nothing would change, especially now that he was detailing the way he'd been treated by the Dursleys. Were the Winchesters taking notes so they could pick up where the Dursleys left off?

He would just bide his time and when the Winchesters and Bobby started in on him, he'd run away; screw Dumbledore and the rest of the wizarding world. They'd have to make do without him, vanquish the dark lord on their own. He could live with that sliver of Voldemort, the one which had reared itself up on occasion, goading him to act out and hurt the Dursleys as they'd hurt him, to defend himself in kind. He'd always managed, save for a handful of times when his anger had gotten the better of him or fear had blinded him to reason, to resist what he now recognized as Lord Voldemort's temptation to take over and use him for vengeance's sake. He could survive well enough on his own, continue to resist the temptation, no matter how great it got, to allow Voldemort free reign over him.

Flicking its forked tongue, his inner snake smiled wickedly. _Harrrry_, it seemed to be saying, _in time you will come to trussst me…and to sssseee that it is the humansss and wizzardsess who cannot be trusssted…you will comme to mee and I will keeep you sssafffe…I will make you ssstronng and powerrrful…you will sssee what allowing me to contrrrollll and guide you will do for you…the doorsss we will open…_it promised with an evil gleam to its jeweled eye…_I am not the one you brave to call Voldemort…though yesss, a ssplinter of him has lodged itssself within you, I can remove it…if you will but let me… _it had a malevolent sparkle to its rapacious eyes…_ and then, together, we will rule the worrrld…you will ssseee… the Dursssleyssss…yesss, we will visssit harm upon them...Dumbledore too…we will make all of them pay… _its grin widened, showing pointed fangs dripping viscous venom... _you are mucchhh ssstrronger than Tom Riddle…a much wooorthier disssciple and bennnefactor of the covennnant he has ssspurned…_

Panting, Harry recoiled, physically shaking himself to rid his mind of the cobweb like effects of the snake's virulent promises. He felt like a trapped fly being offered the opportunity of a lifetime, not being allowed to leave the web, but to join the spider, a transformation from prey to stalker. There was a large part of him which was tempted to take the way of the snake with its assurances of supremacy and world domination, but the part of him which knew forgiveness and love in spite of so little of either of them being lavished upon him pushed it hurriedly aside. He'd give the Winchesters a chance. If nothing changed, he'd take a gamble with the snake, if it would truly rid him of Voldemort and keep him safe.

"And this one?" John's fingers carefully traced a particularly dark bruise on Harry's ribcage, causing the teen to draw in a sharp breath.

"Um…" Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember how he'd gotten that particularly painful reminder of his time with the Dursleys.

The snake, quiet save for the low hum of gentle, self-comforting hissing, tucked its head within its coils, snuggling catlike to rest within Harry's troubled psyche. Harry, he was sure, would be swayed to his way of thinking, given sufficient space and moderate nudges from time to time. Flashes of Voldemort killing his defenseless mother or his friends every now and again would be extremely motivational as well should the need for them arise. For now though, he'd wait and watch and let Harry think, keeping tabs on his mental and emotional status to claim every possible advantage whenever it presented itself.

Every time the boy was hurt or doubted those entrusted to his care, he'd hiss in his ear, solidifying his self-doubts, causing them to grow and, so doing, he would wind himself around and around Harry's inner self until the boy would no longer be able to discern where he ended and the snake, child of the great Apep, began. He was sure the boy would join him and further his father's cause when the time came. He knew that the boy could be greater than all of his previous hosts. He was much more malleable and his forgiving, loving heart would be so much fun to corrupt and twist to his own devices. He'd found a worthy disciple for the first time in well over a century. His father would be proud of his accomplishment and praise him for finding such a fine, young acolyte in Harry.

Until then, he'd wait patiently. Time was on his side as were the forces of darkness. He could sense them lurking in the shadows the minute Harry had met his new 'family'. The boy, soon enough, would find his true family and despise this earthly one, disowning it completely.

Perhaps, rather than annihilating Dumbledore outright, he'd take time to thank the overconfident wizard for removing Harry from the dubious care of the Dursleys and returning him to his true blood relatives. Were it not for the old wizard's machinations, he'd never have been awakened and Harry would remain blissfully unaware of his impending fate. Yes, he'd have to take the time to thank Dumbledore for his intervention which woke him and made him aware of Harry before he laid waste to him and all he held dear.

Harry would be his salvation, restoring him to the good graces of Apep. With Harry, such a remarkably pliant and credulous boy, he would take on human flesh. Apep would seek _his_ favor. He'd no longer be known as Amun, the hidden one, fallen from grace, but he'd be a god among gods, ruling over them all. Grinning in contentment, he rested, keeping a portion of himself attuned to the slightest shift in Harry's thinking and emotions so he could weave his own deceptions within them and make the boy ever more his own.

Harry, unaware of Amun's avaricious thoughts, tried to focus on what it was John had asked him, pushing the revelation that Voldemort was a part of him temporarily to the side in favor of answering his father's questions. John had asked him about the bruise on his ribs. His face scrunched up in concentration as he mentally sorted through the various punches and kicks he'd received at the hands of his cousin's gang and the slaps and pinches along his torso or wrenching of his arms that had been dealt by his aunt or the punishments from his uncle.

"Um…I think that's from when Dudley kicked me," he finally supplied, though he couldn't be sure. He figured that it didn't really matter much how the bruise was attained anyway. There was nothing that could be done about it now. He'd suffered worse and had lived.

"Have you been hurt anywhere else?" John had to fight hard to keep his voice steady as his son recounted the acts of abuse performed against him by his family as though he were talking about the weather. Inside he was seething, railing the Dursleys.

"I couldn't quite get the fry pan clean one morning, I think it was a couple of days ago…it's hard to remember…anyway, Aunt Petunia smacked me in the head with it. There's a small knot in the back of my skull," Harry said matter-of-factly, shrugging the incident off. He absentmindedly rubbed the spot on his head, wincing as he did so.

John pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as he leaned back against the couch. Why the hell hadn't the social workers who dropped Harry off apprised him of the past abuse? Had they even been aware of it? If not, what the hell kind of social workers were they anyway?

Hell, a social worker was on his case if one of his boys missed school for a couple of days in a row and here, the son that he and Mary had been deprived of had been beaten on what he suspected was almost a daily basis and none of the social workers had said a single word about it. How was it possible that his son could be so seriously abused and yet left with his abusers for almost thirteen years without a social worker stepping in?

Seeing John's face cloud over in fury, Harry went on quickly to explain, "I…that is, I'm kind of used to it; I've got a rather thick skull." He smiled half-heartedly, in a failed attempt at humor.

If anything John's scowl darkened, which terrified Harry to no end. He wasn't sure what he could say to appease his new father's wrath and, truth be told, was having a difficult time breathing and didn't feel quite up to the task. He should never have removed his shirt. Where was that good old Gryffindor courage when he had needed it the most? Where was that stubbornness which seemed to grate on his Professors' nerves, especially those of Snape? A little pressure from his newest Muggle relatives and he had caved like some newborn babe. _Pathetic, truly pathetic_, Harry berated himself. Amun twisted his head fetchingly, agreeing with Harry's self-assessment, promising at the same turn that he could help make him strong and resumed his nap.

"What's this?" John grabbed Harry's arm more aggressively than he'd intended and pulled it toward himself, twisting Harry's arm somewhat painfully as he examined the long, jagged scar which had been carved into his forearm. He took in the way the raised flesh puckered up around the sealed wound and ground his teeth in disbelief. Who the fuck would slice up a child's arm like that?

He would have to look over every inch of the boy's body to determine just how much damage had been done to his son. It was clear that Harry was not going to be forthcoming; he probably didn't consider some of his injuries worthy of notice.

Harry shrugged, pulling a little desperately on his arm as he tried to extricate it from John's painful grasp. His heart hammered in his chest. What could he possibly tell John that the obstinate man would believe without revealing the truth? Dumbledore's warnings not to tell his family about magic or being a wizard thrummed dully in his mind and his head ached with bearing the burden of the Headmaster's requirement; in spite of his naïve agreement to uphold it.

He couldn't exactly tell John the truth, that he had gotten the wound from a follower of a mad-wizard bent on killing him and ridding the world of everyone who wasn't a pure-blooded witch or wizard. No, that would earn him even more disbelief. John would think of him as an attention seeker, much like Professor Snape and strive to dissuade him from such thinking by any means necessary. The older man would see it all as an elaborate lie. And yet, Harry could not bring himself to blame his relatives or exonerate them for the injury. Though he knew that John was no doubt coming to that conclusion the longer he kept silent about it, he couldn't find the words to clear them of the crime.

John's eyes traveled the length of Harry's arm, searching for more wounds, hoping to find no other traces of violence visited upon his son. His eyes lit upon a neat little round scar toward his son's shoulder which looked entirely too much like a bullet wound for his liking. He twisted the arm, cursing to himself at the matching scar.

"How the hell did you get this?" John was no longer able to keep the anger and panic from his voice. Who in their right mind would shoot a child? He wanted, no needed, answers and Harry was not cooperating like he should be.

Harry fervently wished that he could reveal the whole truth to his family, Dumbledore and the wizarding world be damned. He'd already made public his most shameful secret; why not go all the way and see how his new family reacted? If they flipped and rejected him as an abnormal freak, turning him out on the street, he'd simply break the other promise he'd made to Dumbledore and run away. Why should he have to follow the elder wizard's orders anyway? It wasn't as though he was his father after all, John was, whether the man wanted him or not and whether or not he wanted John as his father.

How, though could he explain that the old, healed injury had been sustained through battling a basilisk? Even if he simply said that the fang of a large snake had pierced through his arm, how would he explain his survival? It was one distorted, fucked up mess and Harry wondered how the hell things had gotten so out of control with his new family so soon.

Harry was sick as he thought about how he'd been parceled out; first to the Dursleys and now to the Winchesters and all because of Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore. The darkness vying to conquer the light and him, smack dab in the middle of it all. _That'sss right, you've been sssorely ussssed…_Amun consoled.

He gave a sharp yank on his arm, managing, finally, to wrench it from John's bruising grip. Harry, in a fit of pique, stared defiantly at John and jutted his chin out, just slightly. There was a part of him which was desperately arguing with him not to goad his father, but his simmering temper and overall exhaustion won out and he snarled, "None of your business," in clipped tones.

"Just leave me alone!" He further shouted, standing. He glared at John. "It's none of your god damn business, everything's just fine. Just leave me the hell alone! I've not gotten anything I didn't deserve. This scar…"

He shoved his forearm in John's face, panting furiously as he gave way to anger and shame. "This scar was every bit deserved." Cedric's lifeless eyes loomed before him accusingly. He deserved so much worse. He'd gotten away with a measly scratch, Cedric had lost his life.

"And this," he gestured toward the round scar which had seemed to incense his father unlike all of the other injuries had for some reason, "this is nothing compared to what could have happened."

"You weren't there," he railed, "none of you." He looked in turn at Bobby, Sammy, and John. "This is nothing new." He gesticulated wildly, encompassing the entirety of his body. Amun chuckled in amusement at the boy's ire. This would serve him well.

"I've endured this kind of treatment for years and no one," he blinked back tears, he was _not_ going to cry, "no one has ever done a damn thing about it. I can take care of myself, have done so for years. I'm nothing but an ungrateful freak and I deserved it," he repeated the Dursley's words with practiced ease, not quite sure how they came so easily, but grateful for them as they deflected the Winchesters from the injuries which had not been the fault of the Dursleys.

"I deserved it and I don't need you asking me about it or trying to make me think differently, or pretending to care," his voice cracked.

"It's none of your business! Just leave me the fuck alone."

Finished, anger spent, he watched John fearfully out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't look directly at him for terror had finally stilled his tongue and mollified him. He could see that his outburst had infuriated John to the point where the man's face had reddened.

John's jaw was clenched tight and Harry watched as the taut muscle jumped and a purpled vein, reminiscent of those which often popped out on Uncle Vernon's rage-filled face, throbbed at the man's temple. Harry was scared shitless, he was certain that he'd pushed the man too far and that John would hit him. He took a step back, putting his hands up to deflect the blows he was sure would rain down upon him momentarily.


	17. How to Be a Family I

**Disclaimer: **See prologue

**A/N: **paganaidd (there is a direct link to her page on my profile) is now a collaborator, co-consipirator and co-author. I am happy to have her on board. :D Check out her profile.

* * *

How to Be a Family:

I.

Care for the Wounded

John, too furious for words, stood towering over his middle child, ineffectually clenching and unclenching his fists at his side as his mind attempted to process what he'd just learned.

Impotent rage did not sit well with him and he took a few shaky breaths, watching Harry, hating how the boy seemed to fold in on himself with shame and what John recognized as immense fatigue even as he stood facing him.

It was clear to John that Harry was waiting to be hit by him. He could sense Harry's mounting terror and hated that it was his partially his fault. He'd never been good at holding in his temper at the best of times. _Mary, a little help,_ he prayed inwardly, sending a plaintive look upward.

"Harry, enough!" He spoke sternly, his notorious temper coming through in spite of his efforts to keep it in check.

Harry continued to glare at him even while he wavered on his feet. It was an almost comical vacillation between wariness and defiance, but no one was laughing.

Harry's back stiffened and he braced himself for John to strike him with his clenched fist. He'd done far less to provoke a beating from his Uncle Vernon and he could see that John was seething with barely controlled anger. Hell, he'd done his best to make the man angry. He needed to see what he would be up against in this new living arrangement that Dumbledore had secured for him. Just how far could he push before he got punished?

"Go ahead," Harry said through clenched teeth; jutting his chin out in a challenge to the man he'd been forced to accept as his father in James Potter's stead.

He wondered if things would have become so heated between himself and James if Dumbledore had revealed an elaborate plot in which James and Lily had somehow survived Voldemort's attack on their lives, but he'd been forced to live with the Dursleys for the protection of them all.

Would he be filled with such anger were he facing them and not this obstinate man who was his father? Would James have handled the reunion differently? Would it have made a difference to him if he had? Would it somehow have lessened all of the shit that he'd had to suffer through for the past thirteen years of his life if he could have James and Lily back? Or, would he be provoking James to hit him as he was John?

His fisted hands were shaking at his side as he fearfully awaited John's next move. He wondered where John would strike him. Would he choose the face? After all, it was summer and he doubted that anyone from the wizarding community (not that John knew anything about that) would be back to check up on him now that he was in his _father's _care. Just like when he'd lived with the Dursleys, they'd probably assume that all was well and leave him to be treated however his _family_ saw fit.

He was unaware of Sammy and Bobby mutely watching the interaction from the sidelines. It was just John and him and tension so thick between them that, if it wanted to, it could reach out and strangle them.

Dean haphazardly tossed aside every item of clothing he pulled from Harry's bag as he searched for a shirt to cover his brother's battered body. His eyes were filled with unshed tears of rage. Even if Harry wasn't his brother, he'd be pissed at what he'd seen marking the dark-haired boy's thin frame.

His hands shook as he pulled out an overly large orange T-shirt. He tore the neck of it, and, balling it up, blindly threw it across the room. As if the gargantuan size of it had not been enough of an abomination, the shirt had also been peppered with numerous holes, not to mention that it was a gaudy color which Dean would not allow his brother to even think of wearing.

He had a reputation to protect, and now that Harry was his brother, he would make sure the kid wore something befitting a Winchester. Orange did not fall into that category. Nor did baggy, ill-fitting clothing stained with food, sweat and grime. One shirt, which Dean had carefully folded and put on the worn oak dresser to show his Dad later, was pockmarked with rust-brown speckles of what appeared to be blood stains.

Not a single shirt passed big brother inspection and Dean's gut clenched as he pictured Harry growing up having only these tattered shirts, and others like it, to wear. It would be humiliating and Dean's cheeks grew red just imagining it. His heart ached for Harry, not just the teenager who was sitting downstairs in Bobby's living room, but Harry, the toddler, and Harry, the little boy, both of whom he'd never get a chance to know.

Had he grown up with them, Dean was certain that Harry's childhood would have been a happier one, even with the death of their mother and the hunting of supernatural beings. Harry would have been better off growing up with their temperamental father and nomadic lifestyle rather than being beaten and wearing clothes that didn't fit. For one thing, he'd have had Dean to look out for him and, even if he did get Dean's hand-me-downs, they would have been in much better condition.

Dean took another gander into his brother's bag to see if any of the clothing he'd brought with him was salvageable. The jeans and underwear were, if anything, in even worse condition than were his brother's shirts. All of his socks were grubby-looking and sported holes in the toes or at the heel. Dean crinkled his nose up in disgust as he pinched the socks between his thumb and forefinger and tossed them into the growing pile of clothing which he felt must be destroyed for the greater good.

It was no wonder that some kind of protective spirit had attached itself to him, given, not only his physical state of wellbeing, but also his mental. Harry didn't have a single item of clothing which was fit to wear. Had he inherited all of his clothing from a small, robust elephant?  
Sammy had grown up wearing many of Dean's hand-me-downs, but never until he could actually fit into them, and, anything which had grown ratty, was tossed. It seemed to be a rite-of-passage for many younger siblings – the wearing of hand-me-downs. They grew up following in their older siblings footsteps. Clothing, which was in good, working condition, was passed down as was advice. It was the norm.

But what Harry had been forced to wear was beyond appalling. It was clothing which would not even be touched by the Goodwill or any other secondhand clothing store. A shelter would have passed these items up as lost causes. They would have been reserved for the dumpster. _Hell,_ Dean thought, _dumpster's too fucking good for them._

He wondered how Harry had managed to survive all of these years if the clothing he'd brought with him was any indication of what he'd had to wear on a daily basis. There was no way he'd made it through grade school without being picked on by schoolyard bullies if he'd had to wear that kind of clothing. It was a sad commentary on society that children would torment those who were dressed poorly, but it was reality, and Dean seethed at the indignity of what Harry'd been forced to endure as a child. He was determined that Harry's years of suffering that kind of degradation were over.

As Harry's big brother, he was going to make sure that the kid never suffered for lack of clothing which actually fit him. He'd also make sure that the kid had clothing which made him look good. He was a Winchester and Winchester men could look downright sexy when they wanted to.

Dean gathered Harry's clothing and piled it in a corner of the room. Harry and he were going to have a little bonfire courtesy of his previous family's_ provision_, then, they were going shopping. He'd 'borrow' one of his Dad's many credit cards and go on a shopping spree the likes of which he doubted Harry, heck even himself, would ever have been treated to.

For now though, Harry was going to wear one of Dean's newer shirts. It wouldn't fit him right because the kid was shorter than him by a good foot and a half, and he was all skin and bones to boot. But, Dean vowed that, by the end of the summer, Harry would have enough weight and muscle on him to fill out any T-shirt of which he had first given the big brother seal of approval.

It wouldn't do for the kid to attempt to have any fashion sense of his own at first; not until he had passed through Dean's exclusive tutorial on what and what not to wear, and that could take years. Sammy had not quite reached graduation status yet, so Harry would have good company.

Dean picked out a clean pair of faded blue jeans for Harry and laid it out on his bed. Not sure the kid would be able to truly appreciate the gods that were Led Zeppelin yet – he carefully chose one of his plain black T-shirts for him instead. It would still be big on him, but it would fit a lot better than the tent he'd been wearing earlier.

He shook his head as he considered all of the good things that Harry had missed out on by not growing up with them. Sure, there had been some truly terrible times, but all things considered, Harry would have been better off with them, of that, Dean was certain.

_Man, I've sure got my work cut out for me_, Dean mused as he gingerly fingered one of his Led Zeppelin T-shirts before reverently replacing it in the dresser Bobby had provided for their use while they visited. He took one last look around the room, casting the clothing in the corner a look of unmitigated hatred, before heading back to the living room, clean, recently purchased T-shirt in hand.

Next, he grabbed the big kit out of the bathroom. As bad as Harry looked, Dean was glad they'd refilled everything after the last job.

John wrestled with his temper as he thought through what Harry had said and what an appropriate response, other than meting out some form of punishment for his son's insolent tone, would be. He counted to ten once (it had been something which Mary had coached him to do when Dean was younger), then twice and had started on a third round when his concentration was broken by the sound of feet pounding down the stairs.

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief when Dean came to a brusque halt at the foot of the stairs. He almost laughed aloud at the comical wild-eyed look on the boy's face as he searched the room for something amiss. He carefully schooled his features when he noticed that he was being watched and Bobby inwardly groused John's training of his eldest son which had all but stripped him of a childhood past the age of four.

Having a new, safe target for his frustration, John whirled on Dean and glowered as his eldest son came to a lurching halt in the living room. Dean was winded, and the smile he'd worn fell when he caught his father's look of chastisement. He looked back and forth between his father and Harry, both stood stiff as boards, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Tension stole over him. He looked over at Bobby and Sammy and saw that they, too, were frozen in place. It made an odd tableau and Dean wondered what had occurred in his short absence. He hoped that his Dad hadn't lost his temper on Harry. He didn't mind the withering look his father was aiming at him as long as it meant that it was no longer being cast at Harry.

He'd had plenty of practice at dealing with his father in a temper and doubted that Harry would know what to do to help ease it.

From the looks of things, it looked as though Harry was more like Sammy when it came to their father. Rather than being able to diffuse his temper, it seemed as though he'd caused it to skyrocket. No doubt he'd said something which had gotten on their father's nerves. That's usually how things went down between Sammy and their Dad. _Why the hell can't I have one younger brother who doesn't set Dad's temper off?_ He groused, lamenting his status as perpetual peacemaker.

"What?" Dean asked in a tone just a shade short of insolence.

He shrugged a shoulder and met his Dad's steely glare head on with one of his own. He would not be cowed by the man; he'd done nothing wrong. Neither Harry nor he was to blame for his father's current disposition. The Dursleys, and, whoever the hell those people who brought Harry to them, were.

"Watch your tone," John snapped, "you know better than to run in the house."

His body vibrated with the need to express his ill-contained fury at the Dursleys for what they had done to his son. Even if Harry hadn't been his, he'd have hated them for the abuse they'd heaped upon the child.

Bobby snorted and shook his head when John turned his heated gaze in his direction. _Honestly, the man's just itchin' for a fight and I might just give it to him._ Bobby leaned forward in his chair, forgetting the book in his hands.

Dean almost laughed, but thought better of it. "Figured you'd want the medical kit," he said instead.

His father still looked livid and he knew that the older man was looking for someone to unleash his wrath on and, though he understood his father's anger, he was not going to be a willing target for the man. He was going to tread as carefully as possible, lest he set his father off.

Dean handed him the bag, knowing that no matter how angry John was, he'd put his emotions aside to get the job at hand done. This stuff would all have to wait for later.

Of course, later, John would still be plenty pissed, and Dean didn't relish a tongue-lashing, or having to clean all of the weapons, or doing laps around Bobby's place which was sure to come. All punishments his father would not hesitate to dole out should Dean push him to it.

Deciding he'd worry about it later, as well, he held out the T-shirt he'd brought for Harry, a black version of the normal white flag of surrender. Harry continued to glare at their father, ignoring everyone else in the room. Dean doubted that he'd even noticed his reappearance. _Really have my work cut out for me, don't I?_

"Harry," Dean approached the rigid boy, T-shirt held aloft as he did so. "I brought this down for you. Might want to put it on; it's a bit drafty down here." He blushed as he rambled.

Harry broke away from the death glare he'd been pinning their father with and turned to stare at Dean, a dumbfounded look on his face as he looked at the foreign T-shirt in his brother's hand. It wasn't one of his; at least it wasn't one he recognized as his own. It looked brand new and he couldn't see any holes in it.

"'S not mine," Harry slurred, much to his embarrassment.

John heard the slurring. With a guilty start, he remembered what Harry had said about someone hitting him in the head. He felt his anger drain away to be replaced by a different sort of adrenaline. Three days ago? Four? The boy was hit on the head. Harry had said that there was still a lump there. Oh, hell. No wonder the kid was losing it.

"I know." Dean smirked at him, continuing to hold the shirt out to him, waiting for him to take it. "It's one of mine. Figured it'd fit better'n any of those abominations that the Dursleys tried to pass off as clothing would."

Dean looked away sheepishly. It suddenly occurred to him that Harry might be offended by his gesture of goodwill, especially given how he'd delivered it. _Crap. How the hell am I gonna fix this?_

Harry eyed Dean warily. He knew that his clothes were nothing much, that they were pretty much worth shit, but they were all he really had. He'd been wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs since as long as he could remember.

He'd lived through all of the taunts and ridicules of his classmates. What right did Dean have to look down on what he wore? He had no idea what to do. Should he take the offered shirt and risk being seen as a charity case? If he refused to take it would Dean be offended? Fuck it; he was not taking charity from anyone.

"I don't need your shirt, I've got my own. You can wear your own damn shirt," Harry crossed his arms over his bare chest, all too aware of just how scrawny he looked and how starkly his bruises contrasted with the paleness of his skin.

"Look, no need to take offense." Dean tried for calm and tactful. He could see that Harry had a fair amount of the infamous Winchester stubbornness and did not relish getting into a contest of wills just now.

Harry glowered, not taking the shirt that Dean held out to him. "No thanks." He pursed his lips as anger, liquid fire, coursed through his veins, fueling his stand-off with Dean.

"I know it ain't much," Dean's voice was pinched, little louder than a whisper and Harry's eyes searched his, trying to decipher whether his brother truly meant for him to have the shirt.  
"C'mon, put it on, you're beginning to turn as blue as a Smurf," he teased, the corners of his lips rising in an artful smirk.

"I'll just wear my own shirt, thank you," Harry said icily as he turned to look at the moth-eaten shirt lying in a crumpled heap on the couch, scowling slightly as he compared it to the one Dean held before him. He lifted the shirt, intending to pull it up over his head when Dean let out an impatient breath of air and snatched it from him.

"Honestly, of all the Winchester traits to choose from…" Dean grumbled, "of course you'd have to be a stubborn, pig-headed brat."

Harry blinked, thoroughly confused. He'd never given much thought to where his stubbornness had come from before, just knew that it was something that had been frowned upon and yet, he found that it, more often than not, had helped him out as much as it had gotten him into trouble. It was his stubbornness which had led him to find Nicholas Flamel's famed Philosopher's Stone and had likewise helped him keep it safe from the devious clutches of Professor Quirrell who'd played host to Voldemort's wicked soul.

His stubbornness had helped him survive summer after summer at the Dursleys as well. His unwillingness to surrender to Uncle Vernon's unfair edicts or remain cowed after a beating, had not made summers any easier, but it had helped him to hold onto his sanity. Could it be that this stubbornness had been inherited naturally from his father? He cast a sly look at John who was watching him and Dean.

The thought of it thrilled him somehow and gave him a sense of belonging that he'd never felt before; it was even stronger than when he'd first set foot in Hogwarts. He remembered how he had finally felt accepted, no longer alone in his freakishness. He'd felt instantly at home in Hogwarts and yet, it paled in comparison to the sense of family that swelled in him at Dean's uttered declaration, in spite of the fact that his brother had made it sound like it was a cross he'd personally have to bear.

He, for the first time ever, shared something in common with a living, breathing relative. It was astonishing and amazing and Harry didn't know what to do with this new unquantifiable feeling which caused his heart to soar and set his head to buzzing and pushed his anger aside.

"Dean," John shook his head to clear it.

Silently grateful to his eldest for coming in when he had, he smiled. He wasn't sure what would have happened if Dean hadn't inadvertently intervened between Harry and him, but it wouldn't have been pretty. It seemed that Harry had also inherited his temper. It was also likely that Harry was much more volatile than usual, because of his injuries. As John began to look at him with a medic's eye; an eye not hijacked by his emotion, he realized that the boy was shivering a bit in the warm room.

Dean tossed Dudley's hand-me-down shirt aside with a disgusted grimace, vowing to burn it with all of the other clothing he'd earmarked for destruction. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, anticipating an outburst that never came.

"Sammy," Dean's voice held a modicum of his father's commanding tone and Sammy's head snapped up at attention.

"Yes Dean?" He was wary and worried about Harry and his Dad.

"Get a glass of water from the kitchen," he ordered.

Sammy nodded and ran to the kitchen, thankful for the simple task Dean had given him to do. He was having a hard time understanding what was happening. His mind unable to wrap itself around the concept that Harry had been hurt by people he'd thought of as family. Family didn't hurt family, least not with their fists and belts.

Dean eased himself onto the couch, unmindful of Harry's flinch. Harry was now effectively pinned between Bobby and Dean and Dean could feel his brother's unspoken fear coming off him in waves.

"Dad?" asked Dean quietly, "What should happen with these?" Dean indicated the injuries to Harry's back with a silent gesture.

Bobby got up and moved so John could sit down beside Harry and have another look.

Harry flinched away from him as well. Dean looked apprehensively for his father's reaction. It seemed that John had snapped into "professional" mode now, all the angry vibes being replaced with rock solid calm. Inwardly, Dean breathed a sigh of relief; this was the Dad that Dean knew Harry so desperately needed.

"Maybe some Neosporin?" asked Dean.

John nodded, unzipping the bag, "Yeah, although that topical stuff only goes so far. There's some Keflex in the drug box. I want him to take it for the week." John pulled the antibiotics out of the little plastic box, "You need to take one of these four times a day, ok, Harry?"

Harry nodded dully. "What for?" Harry had never taken medicine before, just potions from Madame Pomfrey.

"It's so you don't get really sick from these infections, right Dad?" asked Dean.

John nodded as Dean turned his attention to Harry's back again. The abrasions looked redder to John's practiced eye and he set his lips into a grim line as he placed the T-shirt Dean had gifted to his brother on Harry's lap.

Uncapping the antibacterial ointment, Dean put a generous amount of it in his hand and, after a nod from John who placed a hand on Harry's knee, he began to rub the ointment onto his brother's injured back, ignoring the audible gasp that accompanied his application of the medicine.

Sammy approached the trio on the couch with mild trepidation. Harry's face was contorted slightly in pain and he was biting into his bottom lip so hard that he drew blood. It looked like he wasn't breathing and Sammy was worried.

"Here's the water," Sammy cleared his throat, hoping that Dean would look at him so he could communicate to his older brother that something was wrong, that Harry wasn't breathing.

Instead, it was John who looked up at him sharply, having caught something in his pinched tone of voice. He took the proffered water from Sammy and followed the boy's stricken gaze to Harry's face and cussed, "Goddamn it." His words got Dean's attention and they exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Breathe Harry," John's voice was authoritative. He sighed in relief as Harry immediately obeyed, drawing in deep, labored breaths.

"Sorry, hurts," Harry's voice was little more than a whisper, his lips tinged slightly blue.

"Listen Harry, we know you're in pain," John's words held no sting in them, "that bastard of an uncle of yours made sure of it. No need to be ashamed of your pain."

"Almost done," Dean assured. "Dad? He's really hot. "

John pulled the thermometer out of the bag, "Under your tongue," he ordered, gently.

He thought that some ibuprofen would be helpful to reduce some of the pain and act as an anti-inflammatory; it would also help bring down any fever. But first, John wanted to get an idea how much of a fever they were dealing with at the outset.

He double-checked Dean's work on Harry's back, and, satisfied that Dean had covered the injured area completely, capped the tube of Neosporin and wiped his hands on his jeans. The ibuprofen would have to wait until after he'd taken Harry's temperature.

Dean moved to stand in front of Harry, picking up his T-shirt as he did so. Unclenching his fist from around the T-shirt he'd procured for him, he hastily smoothed it out, ridding it of as many wrinkles as he could before handing it over to the boy who simply stared at the shirt.

Seeing that Harry was not moving take the shirt, let alone put it on, Dean haphazardly plunked the black shirt over Harry's head, dislodging the kid's glasses as he did so.

_Ungrateful brat_, he thought without heat as Harry continued to stare at him in open astonishment, the self-righteous anger all but gone. He gulped, swallowing at Harry's helpless look; that look would do him in if he let it. It was almost as bad as Sammy's puppy dog eyes – maybe even worse.

"Tell me you know how to put a shirt on," Dean demanded sarcastically.

When Harry made no move to straighten his glasses or put his arms through the holes of the shirt, Dean reached over and readjusted the glasses on Harry's nose so they were no longer askew. He ignored the younger boy's flinch, Bobby's bemused grin, Sammy's stifled giggles and his father's low chuckle. _Finally, broke the tension in the room_, he thought wryly.

"Alright, arms up," he ordered and waited until Harry had the presence of mind to look away with good-natured embarrassment at Dean's mothering of him.

"I know how to dress myself," Harry's voice, though defiant, came out muffled around the thermometer. He shook his head to clear it and glared at Dean.

He pulled away from the older boy and struggled to straighten the T-shirt. It was hard work as Dean had placed it on him backwards and the thermometer made things difficult. Harry was quickly beginning to think that Dean had purposefully put the shirt on his head in such a cockamamie manner so that he'd be unable to get it on without his help. Though, why would Dean do that?

He struggled with the shirt for a few minutes before resigning to the fact that he wouldn't be able to straighten the shirt on his own without taking it completely off and starting over, and he was not about to do that. He had some pride, after all. However, in the end, much to his chagrin, it had taken Dean's intervention for the shirt to fall properly into place on him.

It felt soft against his sore skin, and, when he breathed in, he caught a faint scent of something which he could not identify, but which made him feel… strangely…safe. Though the shirt was a little big on him, he wasn't dwarfed by it like he had been with Dudley's cast-offs. It also didn't make his skin crawl.

Now that he was sufficiently covered, he felt considerably better and cast Dean a mirthful glare. Maybe things would be better for him here than they had been at the Dursleys.

Something occurred to John, suddenly. "Harry? When was your last tetanus shot?"

"Shot?" asked Harry nonplussed, then he just shrugged. "Don't think I've ever had one," he mumbled around the thermometer.

He remembered sitting in the doctor's office, waiting while Dudley got his immunizations, envious of the red lollipop he'd gotten afterwards. The doctor had offered him one, but Aunt Petunia had shook her head and said, "Harry can't have sweets. They make him hyper."

"Shit," said John. He had really wanted to avoid taking Harry to the hospital.

"S'alright John," said Bobby knowing what the man was thinking, He was already grabbing his keys and was halfway to the door. "Doc Davis over at the low income clinic owes me a favor. He'll give me the stuff. Need anything else?"

"We're out of sutures," called Dean.

Bobby grunted in reply as he headed out the door, Rumsfeld took advantage of his opening and bolted in through the door, heading straight for Harry and planting himself at the boy's feet. He leaned against the boy's leg, ignoring John's frown. Harry's hand found its way into the dog's soft fur and Rumsfeld sighed, leaning into Harry's touch.

John fished the penlight out. He shined it first in Harry's right eye.

"Hey!" Harry protested wincing away from the light, his fingers digging painfully into Rumsfeld's neck. The dog let out a low growl of warning, eyeing John distrustfully and baring his teeth slightly.

John smiled a little, shaking his head at the dog's antics, thankful that it was here, offering a comfort that Harry readily accepted. Though he wished that he could be the one offering it to him, he would take what he could get for now and work on the other for later, when Harry was better.

"Let me look in the other eye," he ordered gently.

He took the boy's chin and turned his face back toward himself, flashing the light into his left eye. Both pupils constricted as they should and were the same size. John allowed himself to feel a tiny crumb of relief.

"Where's that lump on your head?" he asked.

Confused, Harry pointed to the side of his head with the hand not currently entangled in Rumsfeld's fur. He really did not understand what all the fuss was about. It wasn't like this was his first head injury, and, if his life continued to go on the way that it had been going, he was certain that it would not be the last he would ever receive.

Dean, figuring the thermometer had been there long enough, pulled it out of Harry's mouth. "He's got a fever. 99.5," he informed John.

"Okay." John examined the goose egg on the side of Harry's head. There wasn't a cut, but Harry winced when John touched it. "You been having headaches?" he asked sharply.

"Erm, yeah," replied Harry. "Why?"

He shrugged dismissively, petting Rumsfeld absentmindedly. He almost always had headaches. Sometimes they were directly related to the scar which he'd gotten from Voldemort, and at others, they were courtesy of his former family. It was the norm for his head to ache. He couldn't really remember a time, save for when Madame Pomfrey prescribed a potion for him, when he hadn't suffered from a headache, whether it be a simple, dull ache or a full out head-splitting one.

"Because you've got a concussion," said John. "Any vomiting?"

Harry shook his head in denial. He couldn't have a concussion. He'd hit his head (or rather Petunia had hit him) a lot harder than that before, with no problems. He didn't understand why John was making such a song and dance of all of this.

"Follow my finger with your eyes." John ordered. He moved his hand across Harry's field of vision first left, then right. Both the boy's eyes tracked normally.

"Have you been dizzy?" John asked. "Maybe nauseous?"

"A little," admitted Harry, but he wasn't sure if that was due to his lack of proper nutrition for the past couple of weeks at his dear Aunt and Uncle's house, or the concussion that John was insisting he had. Heck, it could even be due to the fact that he hadn't slept properly in the longest time, waking frequently from nightmares and then not really being able to sleep on the plane, it wasn't necessarily from a concussion.

John considered, given that the head injury had happened three or four days ago, it was likely not that severe. He wasn't having any obvious symptoms. However, concussions could turn nasty even days after the initial blow, a slow bleed building up to the point where it became dangerous or a weakened blood vessel suddenly bursting. Often the signs were subtle. The trouble was that John had no idea what was normal for Harry. It could very well be that the boy was naturally sensitive and emotional. _God, he hoped not. Forgive me Mary._

The best treatment for a mild concussion was rest and quiet. Harry had had precious little of that in the last few days. That could explain much of Harry's general confusion and emotional outbursts. The kid had been under incredible stress. Even if he hadn't been injured, he'd have been acting out in some way, maybe not in such an extreme manner, but there is no way that Harry could have gone through all that he had in the past few days and not have some sort of emotional breakdown.

John thought about Harry's speech, the slight slurring could be just exhaustion. Probably was, but John couldn't be sure.

"Take my hands," requested John, holding his own hands out and waiting for Harry to reciprocate.

Harry eyed them suspiciously, his fingers once more digging into Rumsfeld as though he were trying to anchor himself. The man's hands were big, calloused and stained with something that Harry couldn't identify. He knew, instinctively, that they were strong and, if he wished to, John could crush his hands in a punishing grip. He wasn't sure exactly what John wanted with his hands, but the man hadn't hurt him yet. Gulping audibly, he let go of Rumsfeld's fur and tentatively reached out, trying not to flinch when John's hands grasped his.

"Now, squeeze them," John bade the slightly timorous boy. There was no difference in Harry's grip and John sighed in relief.

"Can you count backwards from twenty nine?"

Harry gave him an incredulous look. John read the unspoken, _What the Hell… _loud and clear on his son's face and yet, Harry did so, clearly wondering what on earth John was getting at. At twenty, John told him to stop.

"Tell me exactly what happened when you hit your head, Harry," John entreated, steeling himself for the story, but he needed to know if Harry could remember.

"What does it matter?" asked Harry, a little panicked again.

He really did not wish to relive the humiliation of being whacked in the head by his thin Muggle aunt. It was degrading enough having to experience it in the first place, but to have to revisit the experience in the presence of his new brothers and father, that was almost too much.

"Just…just tell me." John said in the calmest voice he could muster.

"I-I told you…the pan wasn't clean enough…Aunt Petunia just whacked me with it."

Harry's hand once more found Rumsfeld's silky fur and he buried his fingers into it, looking away from John.

"But you remember it? Or is that just what she told you happened? Did you black out?" John persisted.

"I saw stars for a minute, if that's what you mean."

Harry had a wistful look on his face, as though he was seeing the stars once again as he presumably focused solely on petting Rumsfeld. The rhythmic, soothing action was not lost on John. Harry was finding a way to separate himself from his emotions, using Rumsfeld as a convenient, safe barrier between himself and them.

John relaxed marginally. They didn't need to find a doctor who owed them a favor to give Harry a CAT scan tonight.

"How much pain are you in Harry?" asked Dean suddenly. He was looking at his father questioningly as he held up a couple bottles of the stronger pain killers they had.

"Compared to what?" Harry asked acidly, his ire raised by all of the questions. He was tired, his head ached, and he'd answered all of John's questions, done his bidding. What more did they want from him?

"Scale of one to ten, ten being the worst pain you've ever felt," John said crisply.

Given the injuries, John was expecting at least a seven or eight. If he answered anything less, John was not sure that he'd be able to hold his temper in check much longer.

Harry shrugged, thinking of the Cruciatus Curse Voldemort had used on him not too long ago; that would be a ten. "Maybe a four?" he said, almost off-handedly. He continued caressing Rumsfeld's head, rubbing the dog's ears, smiling slightly when the dog let out a contented groan.

Dean's eyes narrowed, looking at Harry's old scars. He bit back a curse. He'd have guessed that Harry would have at least copped to a six, if not higher. His injuries were nothing to scoff at, and they had to hurt like a son of a bitch. The kid must have one hell of a pain threshold to count his current injuries as only a four.

John drew a long slow breath, so much for the boy being over sensitive.

"Dean, give him half a Percocet," John said, "and a couple of ibuprofen."

"Is that ok if he has a concussion?" Sam asked suddenly.

Harry started, he had almost forgotten Sam's presence; the boy had been so quiet. He wondered if that was normal for Sam, but, given how chatty the younger boy had been earlier, he doubted it. Harry held his breath again, waiting for John to come down hard on Sam for questioning his orders.

Amazingly, John's mouth quirked up at the corner as he gave his youngest son a calculating and, yet, approving look. Sammy was thinking like a hunter.

"I think it is. All his neuros are normal and it doesn't sound like he was knocked out," John told Sam. "I bet you haven't been able to sleep well because of the pain, have you?" He turned to Harry.

Harry shrugged again, feeling deeply confused and dangerously close to tears. No one had ever worried about him being in pain before. It was disconcerting.

He looked at Rumsfeld, watching his fingers move in and out of the glossy fur as though they were attached to someone else's hand rather than his own. He felt numb and entirely too breakable at the same time. He wanted to crawl into the nearest crack in the ground and sink into it. He wanted to get away from all of these new and uncomfortable feelings. He felt like he was teetering precariously on an out of control seesaw, his emotions flinging him high in the air one moment and then sending him crashing hard to the ground, jarring him as he returned to the solid, unforgiving earth.

He'd been on a seesaw once, Dudley sitting on the opposite end from him. They'd been little more than toddlers at the time, and Harry had laughed, enjoying the butterflies that had flitted around in his stomach when he was lifted in the air by Dudley's weight. Even then it had been considerably more than Harry's. Dudley had laughed too; it was the only time Harry could recall his cousin laughing with him rather than at him.

His aunt had watched them play together with a sour expression on her face, ignoring the oohs and awes of the other mothers watching the dark and fair-haired 'brothers' playing so well together. The next day, Harry stayed home alone, locked in his cupboard, while Aunt Petunia brought Dudley to the park to play with the other children. He drew an awkward stick-figured picture of himself and Dudley on the seesaw together; their faces marred with bright red smiles, and tucked it safely away beneath his makeshift mattress.

Sometimes, when he felt especially lonely, he would take the worn picture out and look at it, grasping at the memory as though sifting water through a sieve. He'd spend hours in the almost dark of the cupboard, pretending that Dudley was his friend, imagining fantastic scenarios in which they would try to outswing each other, or sit side-by side in the sandbox, creating lopsided castles with plastic buckets and shovels as he'd seen other kids do when he was allowed to go out and play.

He'd almost forgotten about that picture, that one happy moment in the sun. He hadn't thought about it once since he'd started attending Hogwarts and had made real friends. _Funny_, Harry thought, his fingers blurring, blending into Rumsfeld's dark fur, as he looked at them through unshed tears, _I wonder what Aunt Petunia will do with that picture when she finds it. _

It made him sad to think of it crumpled up into a ball, tossed into the rubbish bin as though it were nothing more than refuse, as though he, and the very memory of him were little more than garbage to be put on the curb and hauled away to the dump. But, that is how they viewed him, wasn't it?

Amun chuckled darkly, coiling and uncoiling his tail along with Harry's unhappy thoughts. The boy's emotions were unsteady at best, but it was his anger which had attracted Amun to him in the first place, that, and the sliver of a powerful, dark wizard unwittingly riding shotgun in Harry's damaged psyche. He had been waiting for an opportunity such as this, to enter the world once again and lay claim to it through a powerful wizard.

If Harry's inherent magic had not been momentarily stoppered, he would never have been able to possess the boy in any capacity. As it was, he'd watched and waited at Albus Dumbledore's side for ages after the man had turned his back on him and the dark and fled to the side of the light. He never would have dreamed in a million years that the old man himself would make it so easy for him, especially given Dumbledore's hatred of him for hurting his little sister and his best friend, Grindelwald.

But, with the administration of his lackey's special potion, the wizened wizard had opened the door to Harry's soul and practically shoved him through it. Possessing the portion of Harry that was afforded for the wizard who called himself the 'Dark Lord' had been all too easy, given that the idiot was completely unaware of his predicament, being cocooned inside of his most vaunted enemy.

It was simply far too easy. Amun would awaken the portion of Voldemort trapped inside of the boy and slowly take possession of Harry, making him far more powerful and dark than the 'Dark Lord' could ever hope to be. The world would quiver in young Harry's wake as he unleashed his fury on it. He would be a god and men would tremble before him.

Harry lifted his eyes to meet John's. Tears brimmed on the surface, making his eyes shimmer in the light. His chin quivered and he took in a shuddering breath. Wanting to speak and not sure what to say, he opened and closed his mouth soundlessly and bit his bottom lip. _Thank you _seemed far too insignificant and he didn't know if he'd even be able to voice those two simple, if entirely deserved, words were he to try.

Dean held out a handful of pills and the glass of water. "So, I got a Keflex, two ibuprofens, half a Percocet and a partridge in a pear tree," he sang.

He smiled, winningly at Harry who looked at him in bewilderment. Not knowing what else to do, Harry took the small handful of pills and, grimacing, swallowed them all at once with the water Sammy had brought him.

"When Bobby gets back we'll give you a tetanus shot," said John. "Then, I want you in bed."

Harry looked at him, gauging the man's sincerity. Was John really sending him to bed so early in the afternoon like an unruly child in need of a nap? Not that Harry didn't think he needed the extra sleep, but surely he was long past the age of enforced naps.

"No arguments," John countered, correctly interpreting Harry's stubborn look and hoping to stave off a pointless dispute which he, as Harry's father, whether the boy accepted him as such yet or not, would win. He just didn't want to get into a fight with his son, not when Harry needed some peace and quiet, as well as rest. It wouldn't do either of them any good to get into a confrontation right now.

"You've had a rough couple of days, Harry," John stated softly, "we all have," he amended. "The pills Dean gave you might make you a little sleepy. Once you've gotten some sleep, we can talk about this summer; figure out how to be a family."

"O…kay," Harry conceded. He rubbed Rumsfeld's ears, wondering at John's words, _how to be a family. _He would very much like to know the answer to that.


	18. How to Be a Family II

**Disclaimer**: See prologue

**A/N**: Co-written with paganaidd. Check out her profile and her stories at: u / 1930591 / paganaidd (as links do not work inside of stories, you'll need to add the http:/ / fanfiction. net part at the beginning; or just click on the link located in my profile).

* * *

How to Be a Family Part II

John was out of his depth. Almost as out of his depth as he had been in those days after Mary had been killed.

He and Bobby sat out back talking in low voices, for a good two hours after they'd put Harry to bed, trying to come up with a plan. When John finally came into the house, he headed up the stairs to take a look at Harry.

Asleep, the boy looked even younger than Sammy. John brushed back the hair from Harry's forehead, looking at the odd scar that marred it. This boy was carrying way too many scars, inside and out.

"It'll be ok, Harry," John whispered, "I swear."

John crept down the stairs, hoping that his other boys wouldn't be too angry at him after he told them his plan.

Dean sat in the living room switching through the channels, but had the sound down. John recognized the posture Dean had taken; although seemingly relaxed, he had his antenna up to listen for his brother. This time Sam was beside him though, with the same posture, also listening for his brother.

Quiet, vigilant; if Harry so much as sneezed, Sam and Dean intended to hear.

John fully expected that Harry would more than likely sleep through the night, but it was a good idea if they kept an eye on him.

"Boys?" John said quietly.

Sam and Dean swiveled towards him in unison.

"How's Harry?" asked Sam.

John nodded at his boys reassuringly. "He's all right. He should sleep for a while."

Dean looked satisfied, but Sam was apprehensively biting his lip, a sure sign he had something to say, but wasn't sure it was a good idea. This face often preceded Sam and John's worst altercations.

"What, Sam?" asked John roughly, worried that Sam was about to let loose with some fairly accurate observations about John's handling of the whole mess.

He didn't have the mental wherewithal to fight with his youngest son right now. He walked over to stand in front of Sam where he sat on the couch, crouching to make eye contact. The eye contact seemed to let something loose in Sam.

"Dad, I'm really, _really_ sorry I didn't say anything sooner." Sam gasped for breath and went on without stopping, "It's all my fault. I know it doesn't mean anything, but I promised I wouldn't and I thought …I had no idea it was that bad…I figured he'd tell you himself once he calmed down…He kept saying it wasn't a big deal and he seemed…I'm really sorry…but I promised and…" the apology tumbled out of Sammy's mouth like the unchecked tears falling down the boy's cheeks.

Sam stopped talking when John lifted his hand. However, he didn't flinch like Harry had. The contrast made John's guts go cold all over again.

"Listen to me, Sammy." John completed the gesture of putting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I am not pleased at you keeping secrets from me," he said sternly.

Sam's eyes dropped and he swiped irritably at his wet cheeks. Dean opened his mouth, ready to jump in and defend Sam. John gave Dean a silencing look.

"But, I understand why you did. You gave your word. Winchesters are bound by their words."

Sam cautiously peeked up at John from under his bushy bangs.

"And maybe it was for the best. Harry hasn't had too many people he could trust. You told him that you wouldn't tell me, as long as _he_ did. And that's what happened. Now, Harry knows that your word is good _and _that you mean what you say. I'm really proud of the way you handled that."

Now Sam was staring at John, startled. John cringed inwardly, had he praised his boys so rarely that they were surprised by it?

"I'm not going to punish you for keeping your word. I _am_ going to tell you not to keep secrets when one of you is hurt. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," said Sammy, solemnly, then he cracked a smile and jumped up to give John one of his fierce hugs that he usually reserved for greeting John after a long hunt.

"Sammy?" John said after returning the hug, "Will you go pack up my bag?"

Dean and Sam looked at each other then back at John. "You're going on a hunt?" asked Dean cautiously, careful not to let any of the anger he felt toward his father seep into his words. How could the man abandon Harry so soon after he'd had such an emotional outburst?

"No," John sighed, "I've been talking it over with Bobby. I think we need some help here. There's a lady I know who works with kids like Harry."

John wanted to talk to Dean privately for a second. As Sammy got older it was harder and harder to keep things from him.

"Sammy, just throw some clean clothes into the bag for me. Enough for two days."

Sam hesitated, suspicious. "Please?" asked John, exasperated.

Sam nodded, trusting that Dean would tell him anything that he needed to know and headed off down the hall. John took Sam's place on the couch.

"You don't mean a shrink, do you?" asked Dean quietly.

John shook his head. "No, not a shrink. She's worked with me on a few poltergeist hunts. She _is_ good with kids. You know how poltergeists sometimes turn out to be caused by a freaked out teenager?"

Dean nodded. "You think that's what's up with the weird shit wind and tremors?" he asked quietly. "Just—what'd'ya call it? Telekinesis or something? Because his life is so messed up?"

John shrugged. "It's a thought. He fits the profile."

In some ways that would be the best scenario as far as John was concerned. A simple telekinetic poltergeist would go away by itself if Harry could deal with his trauma. There was also any number of really bad things it could be that John wasn't ready to articulate to himself, let alone Dean, yet.

Dean nodded. "What do you want me to do while you're gone?" He assumed that John had sent Sam off so he could give Dean some specific orders.

"Usual drill. Just remember that Harry might not be himself until his head heals some. I doubt we've actually seen the real Harry."

John thought about that, wondering what kind of strength of will it took for the boy to make it through days of acting mostly normal with those injuries. John winced again at his initial assessment of Harry as fragile. When he thought about it, Harry was more like the veterans rescued from the VC prison camps. He was cracked and brittle with hardship, but there was a core of steel there. Otherwise he wouldn't have survived.

Someone was going to pay dearly. That god damned uncle would only be the first. He'd also be looking into the backgrounds of those social service workers. They had to have had some inkling of what had happened to Harry and hadn't said a damn thing about it. That was almost worse, turning a blind eye to child abuse.

"I'll be back tomorrow," John paused, "you know, I'm really proud of you, right?"

John wanted to say that to his elder son without anyone in earshot because of Dean's aversion to 'caring and sharing' moments. He also knew that saying such a thing to his son was unprecedented and was worried about how his son would take it.

Dean's cheeks flared red. He looked down and mumbled something that sounded like: "YeahIknow."

John hugged the boy, because Dean hadn't offered his dad a hug in two years. Dean hugged him back hard. It felt good and neither of them pulled back right away.

Over Dean's shoulder, John saw that Sammy had crept back up with a hunter's stealth. Surprised for a moment, Sam grinned hugely at John and headed out to the kitchen.

Dean sniffed and pulled away from John. "So, yeah," he said gruffly, "I'll look after the kids. When will you be back?"

John smirked, recognizing that Dean was only asking to cover his embarrassment at the impromptu display of pride and emotions. "It's only a five hour drive so I'll drive out tonight and hopefully be back tomorrow around dinner time."

Hearing the voices, he must have figured it was safe, Sam called out, "Bag's ready to go in the car."

"Thanks Sammy," John called back, chuckling beneath his breath.

When John had gone, Dean and Sammy sat back down in the living room. "Gilligan's Island" was playing on Nick at Night.

"Hey, Dean?" Sammy asked after "Happy Days" finished, "what do you suppose is wrong with Harry's aunt and uncle? Do you think they're possessed or something?"

Dean shook his head. He was a little less sheltered about that stuff than Sam. Sammy always gravitated towards the straight edge kids at school, Dean the burnouts and the misfits. The straight edge kids might have the same number of fucked up abuse victims, but they were a lot more invested in hiding it.

The burnouts talked about it easily over their joints and their cigarettes. Most of them never called it abuse, of course. Some of them, like Harry, even insisted they deserved it, or it made them tougher. It was one of the things that made Dean worship the ground his father walked on.

"Naw," said Dean in answer to Sam's question, "demons would be easier to understand. But people? People are just fucked up."

Sam nodded sagely, in agreement with his older brother's wisdom.

Harry slept until he heard Sam coming into the bedroom the next morning. He squinted at the light. It looked late. His back and shoulders still hurt, but it was a more manageable ache.

"Hey, Harry?" Sam called from the foot of the bed. They'd let Harry have the twin bed and they'd slept on the bunks.

"Hmm?"

"Bobby's got breakfast, but he says if you're not ready to get up, he can put some away for you and you can put it in the microwave later."

Harry felt around for his glasses, sitting up. "No, I'll get up. What time is it?"

"10:30."

Harry jumped up, as though he'd been stung. "Sorry," he muttered. He grabbed a pair of jeans that were lying over the back of the chair. "I don't usually sleep so late..." he offered by way of excuse.

Sam shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Dean's still sleeping. He'd sleep all day if we let him."

A hand spidered out from under the covers of the lower bunk, extending the middle finger at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes.

Harry, now more awake, realized that the jeans he was attempting to put on weren't his. For one thing they were brand new with the labels still on them. He put them down and looked around.

"Hey, have you seen my…?" He tapered off, looking at Sammy.

Sam shrugged again, "Bobby reckoned you needed some new ones. He went to Wal-Mart this morning. If they're the wrong size we can take them back. He threw the other ones in the wash." Sammy lied. Dean had insisted that Bobby get Harry some new clothes and that they'd be having a bonfire to celebrate his liberation from the Dursleys.

"Um," Harry wasn't sure what to say, "thanks." He put the new ones on, reveling in the feeling of the new clothes, how they didn't feel dirty or used, but clean.

They were the right size, more or less, a little big around the waist, but the right length. They were the first brand new Muggle clothes he'd ever put on. He saw then that a clean, new T-shirt and sweatshirt were over the back of the chair too.

"Dad left us some money so Dean can take us clothes shopping. Dad hates shopping, but Dean's worse than a girl about clothes. He spends all day looking at himself in the mirror," Sam said unconcerned by Harry's lack of response.

After a second, Harry actually heard what Sam was saying and panicked. "Where'd he go? Your...I mean...Dad?" Harry tried the title on to see how it felt in his mouth. It was strange and Harry wondered if James Potter would be pleased or not by his almost casual use of the word.

Samwas pleased, though; it was nice to hear Harry call their father, Dad, like he really was their brother. He smiled widely as he replied with another half-lie, "Dad had a meeting. He'll be back tonight. Bobby says we should lay low today, though. Stay around the house."

Harry nodded. Though he felt better having apparently slept from the afternoon all the way through to the middle of the next morning, without even waking up to a nightmare, he was still a little groggy.

"Hey, lemme look at your back. Bobby said you oughta get more antibiotic stuff on those," Sam said.

Harry felt his cheeks warm a little. But it wasn't as though he could do it himself, and in a way it was easier that it was Sam rather than Dean or Bobby. He pulled off the dirty T-shirt he'd slept in and sat down on the bed.

"Oh, these look a lot better," said Sam, sounding surprised. "Amazing what some antibiotic will do. Some of these are almost gone." Harry felt the chilly lines as Sam spread the antibiotic cream on the marks.

"I generally heal pretty quickly, actually," said Harry quietly, after a moment he said, "Listen, about last night...I'm sorry I sort of went a bit mad...I..." Harry didn't know where to go with the apology_. I'm sorry I'm an utter freak. I'm sorry I'm completely mental. I'm sorry you had to see me have a mental breakdown. _

Sam sighed. "You know, Dean hit his head last year. He had some trouble with it, bad headaches, moody."

Sam wasn't sure if the moodiness had been caused by the head injury or the fact that Dad hadn't taken him on any hunts until the headaches were gone, but Harry didn't need to know that. "Dad said it was like a bruise on his brain. He says you probably have the same thing and aren't really yourself yet. So, y'know, don't worry about it." He shrugged.

Harry found himself smiling a little in spite of himself. "Thanks, Sammy," he said.

Harry couldn't see Sam's face, but he would have been surprised by the expressions that chased across it. Surprise followed by resentment followed by delight. Dad and Dean (and maybe Bobby) were the only ones allowed to call him 'Sammy' and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell Harry so, but then, the fact that Harry was Sam's brother, caught up with him.

Sam's _brothers _were allowed to call him Sammy. It was nice having a second brother, someone else to call him Sammy.

Breakfast was just as huge as the day before and Bobby offered Harry seconds when he wouldn't serve himself. When they were done eating, Harry jumped up to do the dishes. Sam picked up the dish towel to dry and handed the dried dishes to Bobby who put them away. Harry found himself enjoying doing the dishes for the first time ever. It was not as much of a chore when everyone worked together.

"Dean still sleeping?" Bobby asked Sam when they got through with the dishes.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, he pulled one of his all nighters again. He had this radio that he took apart and couldn't get back together." Sam knew that Bobby would understand that the real reason Dean had stayed up all night was to keep an eye on Harry.

Bobby just grinned and shook his head. "Yeah, that's the one I gave him yesterday. Did he fix it?"

"Yeah, it was playing when I got up at eight." When Sam had relieved Dean of his 'Harry watch'.

"Listen, boys, I gotta go into town. Will you be okay for the afternoon?" Bobby asked, watching Harry carefully, not wanting to make the boy feel as though he was abandoning him.

"Yeah, no problem," Sammy replied immediately.

Harry nodded reluctantly, not looking at Bobby, but rather at the back of Sammy's head. He had no problem being left alone at the Dursley's and didn't understand why he felt so off balance now. Maybe it was just being in a new place and not really knowing what was and was not expected of him or maybe he was just being pathetic.

"I promise I won't be long," Bobby assured them, catching Harry's sidelong glance.

"Sure, that's fine, I…we'll be fine," Harry stuttered, blushing as he stumbled over the words. He was the 'big' brother in the situation; shouldn't he say something about how he'd look after Sammy until Dean woke up?

"I'm sure Sammy will keep you entertained and that you'll keep him out of trouble, Harry," Bobby said as he made his way out of the house, barring Rumsfeld from barging in as he had yesterday. "Uh-uh, you stay outside and guard the house, boy," he reprimanded the faithful dog.

He waved the dog off as it ran after his truck and gave only one backward glance at the house. He hoped that everything would be alright while he was away, he'd only be gone a couple of hours. What could possibly happen in a few hours?

_The boys will be fine_, he assured himself. _Hell, Dean and Sammy had been left alone in that house for a lot longer than he planned on being gone._ Still, he couldn't seem to shake off a strange sense of foreboding. John would have his hide if any of those boys were hurt while he was away. He hoped that Sammy would have the sense not to take Harry out of the yard.

Sam and Harry spent a quiet afternoon watching TV and playing chess. Sam found Harry to be almost as good company as Dean was. Better in some ways, he played chess and didn't rag on Sam for being a geek. Harry seemed interested in keeping the conversation away from the events of yesterday and Sam didn't have a problem with that. They talked randomly for a while about the TV shows, how big North Dakota was, what food they liked, nothing touching on the personal though.

"So, what's your school like?" Sam figured school was a safe enough subject. "What classes do you have?"

Harry winced a little, but he had his lies ready, "I've got history, chemistry, botany, biology." Those were the easy ones, he could almost tell the truth about those. "Uh, physics and art and uh...Latin."

Sam looked at him with new respect. "Wow, that's a serious schedule. No English, though? Or math?"

Harry shook his head. "Not this year. My friend Hermione takes this wicked advanced maths course, though. I can't make heads or tails of it."

"Hermione...that's a girl?" asked Sam. This was the first actual information he'd gotten out of his brother. "She your girlfriend?"

Harry laughed. "No. She's really nice, but it'd be like dating my sister. Not girlfriend material, if you understand. She's brilliant when you need help with your homework though. Spends most of her time in the library."

"You oughta introduce her to Sammy," yawned Dean, coming into the room eating cereal directly out of the box. "Mornin'. There any coffee made?"

"There's instant in the cupboard," replied Sam, not bothering to point out that it was almost 6:00 in the evening.

"'K, thanks." Dean wandered back into the kitchen.

Harry looked quizzically after Dean for a moment, then asked Sam, "Does he do that much?"

"Stay up all night?" asked Sam. "Yeah, when he's got a problem he can't solve, he says he can't sleep until he's done."

"Does y...does… Dad get mad about it?" asked Harry.

"Not unless it makes him miss too much school. They've been getting into fights about that lately though. Dean hates school and figures he should just quit," Sam said, "I think it's the only thing they fight about."

"Huh." Harry sat quietly considering his next chess move and wishing that Ron was there telling him which move to make next. His friend was the best chess player he knew, even better than Professor McGonagall, he'd wager. He missed his friends and longed to tell them all that had happened to him. Would they still accept him as their friend even though he had a different family than they had thought? He was probably worrying over nothing.

The phone rang, making them all jump. Dean picked it up in the kitchen. After a second he called into the living room, "Dad's staying another night in Kansas. The lady he went to see is coming with him but she can't get away until tomorrow."

"Who's he bringing back with him?" asked Harry, curiously.

Dean came back into the room and he and Sam exchanged a guilty look. Harry stared at Sam. "What? Is it something to do with me?"

"I'm not sure...," stuttered Sam.

Anger erupted in the pit of Harry's stomach for the first time that day. Now that Dean was awake, Harry was on the outside again. Harry felt like flipping the chess board, but resolved that he would not act like such a child this afternoon as he had yesterday. Instead, he took a deep, calming breath.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, shortly.

He stalked out of the front door. Rumsfeld jumped up from his nap on the porch to follow at Harry's heels. Dean shook his head at Sam when he started to follow.

"Give him a little space," said Dean. "The dog's with him and its not like there's anywhere to go. Give him a minute to cool off and then we'll go explain."

The truth was that Dean hadn't expected Harry to be so quick on the uptake and knew how he'd feel in Harry's situation. He also had had no time yet to talk over with anyone Harry's mutterings of the night before.

Over and over the kid had begged for something. Dean had listened to it all night, assuming that the pleading tone had meant he was reliving the latest beatings his uncle had given him. Around four AM though, Harry's mumblings had become more understandable. Harry hadn't been begging for an end to a beating, he'd been begging for someone's life. Someone _else's_ life.

Dean had walked over to shake Harry, who'd sat bolt upright, his hand outstretched as though he held a knife defensively in it, he'd whispered unintelligibly, then fallen back asleep.

What Dean had heard of Sam and Harry's conversation, only deepened Dean's disquiet_. Knife fighting and Latin class; that was a hell of a combination_. Dean was beginning to suspect that Harry's life wasn't screwed up in just the usual ways.

Dean took his time showering. He often did his best thinking in the shower. He still had no clue how he was going to broach the subject with his newly acquired little brother.

_Dad's just gone to find a social worker who works with poltergeists is all. And oh, by the way, made any deals with any supernatural f'uglies? _Yeah, right.

Finally he went back down to the kitchen where Sam was looking anxiously out at the sunset.

"Dean?" said Sammy, "I think we should go look for Harry. I've got a bad feeling about him."

Sammy's bad feelings had been right often enough that Dean paid attention. "How bad?" Dean asked cautiously.

"Real bad," said Sam. Dean saw then that two shot guns were propped up against the table, each with two boxes of shells loaded with rock salt beside them.

Dean nodded. "Is Harry _in _trouble or is_ he_ the trouble?"

"I think he needs help," replied Sam.

"OK, you stay here." Dean held up his finger to forestall protests. "He might come back. Salt everything. Bobby's place is pretty well warded, but it won't hurt."

Sam didn't look happy, but he nodded acquiescence.

Dean took one of the shotguns and loaded it up, sticking the extra rounds in his pocket. He trotted off in the same general direction he'd last seen Harry go. He hoped that, for once, Sammy's sixth sense was off. That he was just reading into Harry's general distress. Dean also hoped that Harry hadn't decided to hike his skinny ass up to the highway and hitch a ride into town. Dad would have his hide.

After a much shorter time than Dean would have hoped, he saw Harry leaning up against one of the junk cars, petting Rumsfeld's furry black head and gazing at the sunset.

"What do you want?" asked Harry, in a voice meant to be defiant, but which came out as resigned. He hadn't turned away from the sunset.

Dean was impressed that Harry had heard him, but thought perhaps the dog may have moved to tip Harry off to the person coming up behind him.

"We were wondering if you were ok."

"Oh, I'm just bloody brilliant," Harry replied sarcastically.

Dean came to stand beside Harry, leaned up against the car. He didn't feel good with all of this emotional drama, but the couple of things he'd heard Harry say last night kept bugging him.

"You didn't sound so good last night."

"Yeah, well." Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I guess I owe you an apology for going mental on all of you," he said quietly, his voice losing its edge.

"No, I meant...last night...you didn't sleep so good."

Harry's expression hardened, but Dean thought if Harry got angry, maybe he'd let out more information. Dean didn't see the slight movement Harry made, pushing up the left sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"Harry, who's Cedric?"

Whatever Dean had expected Harry to say or do, was not what he got. Harry jumped away from the car, reached into the sleeve of his sweatshirt and pulled out a long thin object. In the dim light, Dean assumed it was the knife Harry had dreamt he'd held between them last night. He held himself in a fighting stance, his knees bent slightly, one foot forward, one foot slightly back. Harry's green eyes glittered with the last of the sunlight.

"Where did you hear that name?" he hissed dangerously.

The rifle was slung over Dean's back and he held up his hands at shoulder level with the palms out. "You were dreaming about him last night. You said, 'Don't kill Cedric' and then you said, 'Dad! They've killed Cedric.' So, who's Cedric?"

"Don't you talk about him!" exclaimed Harry, furiously, advancing on Dean. "Don't you _ever_ talk about him!"

As Harry stepped forward, Dean realized that, what he had supposed was a long, thin knife, was really a cylinder with no blade. Harry brandished it like a weapon, though. Even as he recognized this, a cold chill ran up Dean's spine.

The air around Dean and Harry suddenly went from the heat of South Dakota's June to the chill of her December. Dean's breath shimmered frostily in the air for a moment and then the light died. It was as if someone had put the sun out and the very darkness around them was freezing solid.

"What the _fuck_?" cried Dean. "Are you doing that?"

Harry swore loudly, "No I'm not doing it. What the _blazes_ are _they_ doing here?" Harry sounded as frightened as Dean.

Deep in the cold, Dean remembered heat. Fire, and a woman screaming. The heat that wanted to devour him. _"Dean, take care of your brother. Take him and run. Outside! Now!"_ No. He had to help her. He had to help his Mommy. _"No, Dean. Take Sammy. Run."_

The woman's screaming was the last thing Dean heard as darkness and cold extinguished the fire.

Harry felt the cold, but as incensed as he was at Dean's questioning, what it meant didn't register. When Dean demanded to know who Cedric was, Harry had lost the last of his composure. He wasn't going to let Dean get away with using Cedric's name to taunt him about his dreams like Dudley had.

When Dean had demanded to know if he, Harry, was doing it, Harry finally understood the source of the horror that was filling him. He turned to see three Dementors gliding over the dry grass towards him.

Dean gave a peculiar little whimper. Harry glanced at him and saw him lying in a heap on the ground. Harry lifted his wand, but could not summon a single happy feeling to support a Patronus now that the memory of James as his father had been stripped from him. He thought of Ron and Herminone.

"_Expecto Patronum_," he gasped. His friends were so far away from him. His wand spat silver sparks that were swept aside by the nearest Dementor.

Strong hands clamped to his face and he felt the thing's putrid breath wash over him. In another moment, he would be worse than dead.

His mother's screams were amplified tenfold. But, she wasn't really his mother was she? She died for a cuckoo's chick. The kiss of a Dementor was no less than he deserved.

"Get the FUCK away from them!" screamed a voice. Two enormous explosions deafened Harry for a second. "Those are my brothers!" screamed that voice again, "Get the FUCK away!"

A toe poked Harry in the shoulder. Harry blinked his eyes to clear them. Sam stood above him holding a Dementor at bay with a rifle. In some weird reversal of the natural order of things, a _Muggle _was holding off Dementors, not with a wand, but a weapon of fire and steel.

"Harry? Can you see it?" Demanded Sam as Harry staggered to his feet. "It kind of shimmers. It's like it's darker black against the dark. I don't know what it is, but it's fucking dangerous. I need you to get back to Bobby's, you'll be ok there, it's warded to the rafters. This is real and I..." Sam broke off because he'd seen one of those shimmers out of the corner of his eye.

Harry fought down the urge to laugh hysterically. Sam was trying to protect _him_, Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, from monsters.

Nobody had done that before. Not since the day Lily and James Potter had thrown down their lives for a child not even of their blood.

Harry turned to where the Dementors were trying to sidle past Sam. The rifle went off again. To Harry's shock, the Dementor seemed wounded. It grabbed its midsection and pulled in on itself, dropping lower to the ground as though in pain.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_" yelled Harry with all his might.

This time, the silver stag erupted from the end of Harry's wand. It ran down the wounded Dementor first, and the others rapidly retreated from its sharp antlers. In less than a moment, Sam, Harry and Dean were left alone in the maze of junked cars.

Looking panicked, Sam shot at the stag. Although the stag flickered where the bullets passed through it, its light never dimmed. It did turn to gaze reproachfully at Sam.

"Uh, sorry," Sam said in a small, awed voice.

"It's ok," said Harry, "You can't hurt it. Or, maybe you can..." Harry was dreadfully confused. His Patronus bowed to Sam and faded from sight, leaving them in the dark. He was somewhat surprised and also pleased that his Patronus had still taken on the form of James' animagus. It was as though James Potter had saved him once again.

Harry had no time to consider what had just happened. Dean still lay unconscious and Harry didn't know how long the Dementors would retreat for.

"Sam," he gasped, "Dean's..."

Sam lit a flashlight, shoving it into Harry's hand. "Hold this."

He bent down to feel his brother's throat. "He's alive. Out cold though."

Sam gently patted Dean's cheeks with the hand that wasn't holding the rifle.

"Did one of those things hit him?" he demanded of Harry, tensely.

"No, he's..." Harry knelt beside them. "We need to get him back up to the house."

"Can you take his other side?" Sam took back the flashlight and pocketed it.

Harry pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder while Sam took the other side. Fortunately, Dean was thin and wiry-not unlike Harry, although better fed and taller. Harry thought abstractly that this would have been a lot harder if it had been Dudley.

Sam seemed to have turned on every light in the house before leaving it. As soon as they had dropped Dean onto the couch, Sam picked up a big bag of white powder and spread it in a neat line across the threshold of the door.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

He left Dean slouched on the couch for a moment, running to the refrigerator. He stared at the contents, then snatched up the object of his search along with three forks from the cutlery drawer.

"It's salt," grunted Sam. "Keeps out the critters. What's that for?"

Harry was carrying the remains of a chocolate cream pie from the kitchen.

Harry offered the pie along with one of the forks to Sam. "Eat it," he said without preamble. His own mouth was full of chocolate pie. "It helps with the aftereffects of Dementor attacks. Come on, Dean." He patted Dean's face some more. "Wake up. You need to eat some of this."

Dean opened unfocused eyes. "S-Sammy?" he whispered.

"Right here," said Sam, sitting down next to Dean. "Do you think you can eat something? Harry said it'd help-I think it does."

Dean's pupils were constricted in fear and he was shaking as if with chill. Harry felt that he could be looking into a mirror as he faced Dean's horror stricken expression.

"I heard Mommy," Dean whispered. He was eerily still for Dean. He sounded very young. "She wouldn't let him get you. I couldn't see her, but I heard someone screaming and then everything lit up in red. Sammy. Mom's dead, Sammy."

"I know, Dean." Sam looked at Harry for help.

"Dean, eat this," Harry said firmly, and he took a forkful of chocolate pie and shoved it into Dean's mouth.

Mechanically Dean chewed and swallowed. After a moment, Harry gave him the fork and Dean tremulously took another bite.

Harry stood to peek out the window, waiting for the inevitable accusations and demands for information he knew would come, as soon as Dean and Sam recovered from their shock. Harry's mind was racing. What were Dementors doing in South Dakota? Perhaps the American Ministry of Magic used them? How much trouble was he in for using magic in front of Muggles now? Would he get a letter from the Ministry demanding that he break his wand and another from Hogwarts informing him that he would no longer be a student at their school?

Dean and Sam were talking quietly, but intensely. Harry leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He couldn't make out why the Dementor had been wounded by Sam's shooting.  
"Harry?" Sam finally said. "You ok?"

Harry nodded, facing them. "I think so."

For once, Sam was taking the lead. Dean looked better than he had a minute ago, but he was still looking pale, shaken, and not at all inclined to start an interrogation.

"Do you know what those things are?" Sam asked.

It was no good pretending now, Harry thought, resigned. "They're called Dementors. They-well they're foul, evil things. They suck the happiness right out of you, and your soul, if they can get it," Harry replied heavily.

Sam's eyes widened and he turned to Dean. "Dean?" he cried, panicked.

Dean waved him off. "S'okay Sam, I'm still here. We'd know if they got one of our souls, wouldn't we?"

Harry nodded.

"How'd you know what to do?" Sam asked, "And what was that deer thing?"

"I..." Harry was done lying. It was suddenly liberating to just spit out the truth. "It was my Patronus. It repels Dementors. I learned how to cast one from Lupin. He was my Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor last year. Chocolate is a remedy for Dementor attacks."

"Defense against the Dark Arts?" asked Dean very slowly, exchanging amazed looks with Sam, "Are you saying you're a hunter?"

"A hunter?" repeated Harry. "I don't know what you mean." He sighed bitterly. He remembered Dumbledore's cautions about not telling his family, but it was far too late now. "I'm a wizard."

Dean's expression changed to one of purest disgust. "WHAT?" He stood up quickly, took a step toward Harry and faltered. He was still not one hundred percent after the Dementor attack.

Harry whipped out his wand, ready to defend himself. Sam stepped between them. "Stop it, you two. Dean. Sit. He saved your soul. Those things could come back any minute and Harry's the only one of us who knows what they are, so calm down."

A loud crack, like the shot of a pistol had them all turning toward the door. Sam snatched up his rifle and Dean swung his own over his shoulder. Harry aimed his wand in the same direction.

"Jesus Christ, Missouri!" It was John's voice in the yard. "What the fuck was that?" He sounded shaken and ill. "How the hell did you do that?"

A woman's voice answered, "I'm sorry John, but we couldn't get here fast enough any other way."

"Boys? It's Dad!" He called from the porch. "Don't shoot us."

"What's the word?" asked Sam suspiciously.

"Metallica. No, wait, Antilles."

Dean and Sam lowered their rifles; Sam opened the door. "Metallica was last week," he deadpanned.

John smiled tiredly. "Good job."

Harry held his wand on John and his brothers. A short, plump black woman came in behind John. She glanced at Sam and Dean then locked eyes with Harry.

"Sweetheart," she said gently, "Go ahead and put your wand down. We ain't gonna hurt you."

Harry thought she had the most beautiful voice he'd ever heard. She had a kind smile to go with it, but he wasn't at all sure he could believe her. Dean was certainly ready to hurt him, if looks were anything to go by. He lowered his wand tip just a trifle.

"What the hell happened here?" demanded John.

"Something attacked us," exclaimed Sam, "it got Dean, and it almost got Harry."

The woman looked at Dean sharply. Leaving Harry for the moment, she walked to look Dean in the eye. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry," she said gently, "John, you got any stashes of candy bars around here?"

"Candy bars?" asked John, he was confused, feeling left out of some bizarre loop he wasn't sure he wanted to be a part of and yet knew he would soon be welcomed into, like as not.

"Harry made us all have some chocolate pie," said Sam quietly.

The woman beamed. "He did? Well, that was smart." She pushed Dean back down onto the couch. "If you got more, that'd be good."

"I think there's some more in the freezer," said Sam. "I'll go get it."

The woman sat down next to Dean. "Harry, honey, come sit by me." She patted the other side of the couch next to her. Harry lowered his wand completely but he didn't put it away as he cautiously took a seat next to her.

"Now, boys, my name's Missouri. I'm an old friend of your father's. Can you tell me about the things that attacked you?"

Dean was pale again. "I didn't see anything. Harry went to take a walk and then Sam said he had a bad feeling. I was talking to Harry and then...everything went cold like the way it does when there's something nasty coming for you...and then...it was like...I heard mom screaming. Dad told me to take Sammy and run...and then...I don't know..." Dean focused on Harry suddenly, eyes accusatory. "And then Harry lets us in on the fact that he's a witch." Dean's voice was harsh with anger.

Missouri smiled, sadly, saying matter-of-factly, "No honey, he's a wizard. Witches are girls where he comes from."

"So what the fuck's he been bargaining with?" Dean demanded. "Or does he just slice up bunnies?"

"Dean Winchester!" Missouri scolded sharply. "You just put that mouth of yours in neutral, or I'll wash it out with soap. There are wizards and there are wizards. Harry was born with his powers and 'tain't no different than you being a good mechanic or Sam havin' those premonitions. It's just the gifts god gave him."

Dean looked rebellious, but kept his mouth shut. John shook his head, wondering how on earth he was going to tell his sons what he'd just learned. Seeing no other way for it, he decided to just dive in, and tell them, much as Missouri had done with him.

"I've been getting a little education from Missouri. Your mother's parents both came from wizard families. They didn't have the magic though, so they became hunters."

Sam put a plate of defrosted pie in Dean's lap.

"Eat that up, honey," said Missouri, patting his knee, "it'll make you feel better."

Sam shoved a plate into Harry's hand. Harry had to lay his wand across his lap in order to eat it.

"You're real quiet," Missouri said to Harry.

"Yes, miss," Harry said politely, voice quiet and tense.

The chocolate was starting to take effect, but the look Dean had bestowed on Harry was almost as bad as he imagined receiving the Dementor's kiss would be. Harry started to hear Vernon's voice in his head, calling him 'Freak' and 'useless whelp'. He shuddered at the recollection.

"Harry, look at me," Missouri said, sensing a change in the boy.

Harry looked the woman full in the face. Breathing heavily, he fought to banish the echoes of Vernon's voice ringing in his head.

"You go to Hogwarts, right?" she asked.

"Yes, miss," he replied, assuming that John had told her the name of his school. He tried to decide whether he should try to keep up the lies. Maybe do some damage control. Although, he couldn't imagine how.

"You take Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall?" Missouri asked; her eyes were boring into his.

Harry felt like he'd been hit with a bludger. This woman knew about Hogwarts? "Yes, miss."

"She's so nice. I met her at a conference in New Orleans, a few years back." Missouri, settled back on the couch more comfortably. "So can you tell me what happened tonight, Harry?"

"I, uh, I went for a walk and then Dean came looking for me. We...sort of had an argument. And then there were Dementors out there. Dean passed out. I tried to conjure a Patronus, but it didn't work. I think I sort of passed out too."

Harry went a bit red with embarrassment. He'd been able to produce a Patronus without a problem when Sirius' and his lives were in danger not too long ago, it should have been a cinch to do so again.

Missouri breathed in sharply. "So what happened then?"

She knew that the only thing which had a hope of dispersing Dementors was a corporeal Patronus and Harry was a little young to be able to perform such a feat. She was mildly surprised that he had even known what the spell was and had attempted to do so outside of school, though from what John had told her about the boy, she knew he had to have a backbone of steel and that little rules about what one should and should not be able to do would not necessarily fit in with Harry's particular schema.

"I saw that they were both down," said Sammy, taking up the story where Harry had left off, "I had a really bad feeling so I went to look for them both. It was really cold and there was something dark kind of hovering over them. And when I got close, I started remembering..." Sam swallowed, glanced at John, "...some really bad stuff." Sam shivered and took a steadying breath, "I put a couple of salt rounds into the whatever-it-was."

"You saved your brother's lives, tonight, Sam," Missouri said quietly. "So, did the salt drive them off?"

Sam shook his head. "No, it hurt one of them real bad, though-at least I think so. It sort of contracted in on itself; I couldn't see it real well. But then Harry got up and said something and this big silver buck appeared. It was huge! It charged the things and they went away. Harry helped me bring Dean back and made us eat chocolate." Sam stopped, and added as an afterthought, "I kinda freaked out and shot the deer. Salt didn't do anything to it," he said sheepishly, a little ashamed at his response to what had more than likely helped to save all of their lives.

Missouri nodded. "Salt only works for Dark creatures. Patronuses are about as light as you can get this side of angels."

"So, what? Harry's the freaking Wizard of Oz?" asked Dean, sarcastically.

"Dean, I know you had a tough night, but please..." John began, sounding exhausted, "Just give us a break here, son."

"How did you get here so quickly?" asked Dean suddenly suspicious. "You said you were still in Kansas." It seemed like Dean's mind had just started working again after having been short-circuited by those demontory, whatever the fuck they were, things.

John looked at Missouri. "She brought us." He was still recovering from the dizzying effects of whatever it was she had done to bring them from Kansas to North Dakota in no time flat.

"I apparated us here," said Missouri, calmly as though she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

Harry nearly fell off the couch in shock. He supposed he had started putting it all together when he'd first heard the sound of apparition in their yard, but it was still a shock. "You're a witch?" he asked Missouri in incredulous awe.

She smiled gently at him again. "Yeah, sweetie. John's told me everything he knows about you, but it seems like they left some things out when they told him about you, huh?"

Another loud crack from the yard stopped Harry from answering.

Missouri sighed. "Oh, lordy, they're here already." She stood up, looked down at herself, dressed in neat Muggle clothes comprised of jeans, T-shirt and sweater. "This ain't gonna do it." A wand appeared in her hand and her clothes were suddenly wizard robes in blue with black trim. She winked at John who just stared. "You boys keep quiet and let me handle this."

Missouri opened the door just as whoever was outside was on the verge of knocking.

"Can I help you?" asked Missouri a little coldly.

The man was tall and thin, wearing green wizard robes, Harry supposed that this was the representative from the American equivalent of the Ministry of Magic.

"We had a notification of magic possibly witnessed by Muggles here," the man said a little pompously. "This residence has recently been registered as the home of an underage wizard, and naturally we had to investigate."

"And what was the magic incantation allegedly performed at this residence?" Missouri folded her arms across her chest, holding her wand at the ready.

"A Patronus charm, ma'am," the wizard's voice faltered a little and he looked away from Missouri's steely gaze, suddenly feeling a little out of his element.

"Uh huh. And how old is the wizard who lives here?" Missouri sounded amused.

The wizard looked down at the paper he was holding. "Fourteen. Oh." The man looked a little sheepish, but then he pulled himself together. "Well, yesterday, we also had reports of unusual seismic activity and storms." _There, that ought to wipe that self-satisfied smile off her face,_ he thought to himself, but then again, he didn't really know this witch.

"That's why I'm here," said Missouri easily, "Mr. Winchester consulted me because his son has been sick. The poor child had some fever and it was wreaking havoc with the child's magic."

"You're a healer?" asked the wizard skeptically.

Missouri laughed outright. "No son, I'm an Auror. Mr. Winchester is a hunter. He's worked with me before."

The wizard looked over Missouri's shoulder at the four men in the room. Hunters made him uneasy, though he knew that the Aurors sometimes worked with them, he couldn't get the legends of what some of them had and were still doing to witches out of his head. Bottom line was that they scared him.

"Could I just interview the family?"

He moved forward, inching his foot over the threshold, only to be stopped short by Missouri who gave him a censorious glare. There was proper protocol to follow in such situations and this particular ministry wizard was overstepping his bounds. _The official must be one of the newer ones_, she mused.

"I don't think so. You see, these poor people are having a hard enough time right now as it is. Harry's still sick and I just apparated up from Kansas. I was talking with Mr. Winchester about Harry and then all of the property wards flared."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, this Patronus charm lit up magic detectors for over three hundred miles. We need to find out who cast it in front of a bunch of Muggles."

"Boy, do you use your head for anything other than storing saw dust?" Snorted Missouri. "First, it's pretty obvious that I, as an of age witch, cast it. Second, I cast it because three Dementors were attempting to suck the souls out of two of these children here."

She glanced back over her shoulder at Dean and Harry who took her cue and managed to look properly worn and frazzled. Both boys wouldn't earn an Oscar for their performances, but they were pretty good at improv.

"What? What were Dementors doing here?" The wizard was flabbergasted and shuddered slightly.

In his training, he'd had to face a single Dementor and it had been terrifying, he couldn't imagine being confronted with three of them. As it was, it had taken him four times to produce a corporeal Patronus and he'd barely passed with a Dreadful. Thankfully his judge had been willing to let him pass on a technicality. After all, when would a DOM official have to face a Dementor attack? It was simply unheard of, especially in America where they were nearly wiped out.

"That's a damn good question. You might want to send an owl to find out who's using Dementors these days and ask them what the hell they're doing in the middle of the prairie," Missouri demanded. Damn, but the DOM was sure training a bunch of nincompoops nowadays. This wizard wouldn't know his own head from his ass without it being shown to him.

"Could they have been wild?" asked the man.

"Yeah, if this were Oregon. You ever heard of Dementors in the Midwest? No, they were someone's tame ones. I imagine they were after Mr. Bobby Singer though. He's a hunter too. I'm thinking he ticked off the wrong witch or wizard somewhere." Missouri sounded thoughtful.

"But what about the Code of Wizarding Secrecy?" demanded the man. "You can't just throw Patronuses up in front of Muggles." He sounded perturbed and Missouri smiled inwardly.

"Son, are you telling me my job?" Missouri's voice had gone dangerously soft, "I just told you, Mr. Winchester's a hunter. His wife's father was Samuel Campbell. Jeremiah Campbell's brother...I imagine you've heard of him? Samuel was a squib, but he was a damned fine hunter. Since Mrs. Winchester died, I've been keeping an eye on her family for her. It's the least I could do for Samuel and Deanna's grandchildren. Of course, Dean and Sam are both squibs, but Harry's been going to Hogwarts. Came back sick with dragon pox this year."

"Hogwarts?" the man said quizzically. "Why not one of our schools?"

"That's a family matter and not your business. Are we done here?" Missouri asked irritably.

"Well, I guess..." the man was flustered. "I mean, yes. I'll just let the office know that you're here at the moment. And we'll investigate the Dementors. You folks have a good night."

Missouri closed the door before he finished speaking. A loud crack announced his leaving. Missouri sighed, grateful that the DOM official had not demanded to see her wand and verify that she had been the one to cast the Patronus.

"Well, that's that." She resumed her seat on the couch between Harry and Dean. "John?" she said suddenly, "You got any sweet iced tea?"

"I'll get it," Sam said, jumping up. He was eager to learn more from Missouri and more than willing to comply with her wishes, hoping that she would tell them all more.

It seemed to Harry that Sam was taking great comfort in doing things he could understand. As for Harry, perhaps he was becoming accustomed to the world turning itself upside down. "Miss," he asked very quietly, "Are you really an Auror?"

"Yeah, I am." Missouri looked at Harry again. "Now, we won't be getting any trouble for underage magic. Most fourteen year olds wouldn't even know the incantation for a Patronus."

Ah, that explained why the wizard who'd shown up at their door had been so easily convinced by her words. In Harry's world, on the other side of the ocean, a wizard showing up on his doorstep would not have been so easily convinced of that. Especially not when it concerned the actions of their underage hero of the wizarding world.

Harry nodded. "Professor Lupin taught me the Patronus charm because I always react so badly to Dementors."

Harry paused, remembering his humiliation over the incident when he fell from his broom during the Quidditch match.

"I found out how bad I was about it, because there was a load of Dementors at the school, _protecting _us from an escapee from Azkaban." The bitterness in Harry's voice did not go unnoticed by Missouri, but she chose to ignore it.

"_Professor _Lupin? Same Lupin who brought you here?" demanded John.

Harry nodded without looking at him. Missouri gave John a quelling look.

"I knew they weren't social workers," John muttered, subsiding, for the time being.

"What do you mean react badly, Harry?" asked Missouri carefully, "I can't think of anyone who reacts well."

Harry took a deep breath; there was something about Missouri that made him want to trust her. She'd just saved his skin from a charge of underage magic, performed in front of Muggles to boot, and she was helping him dodge bludgers with his new American family.

"Whenever I get close to a Dementor, I can hear my Mum...I mean Lily Potter...screaming. Sometimes I can hear James too, telling her to take me and make a run for it."

"What were they running from?" asked Missouri.

"Voldemort," Harry said on a breath.

Missouri went very still for a moment. "Honey, John told me about the fertility treatments and stuff, but didn't tell me who your birth parents were."

Harry could tell that she was putting the facts together but didn't want to jump to conclusions. Harry kind of liked that she referred to Lily and James as his birth parents rather than dismissing them from the equation the way everyone else seemed to, now that the truth was out.

"They were Lily and James Potter. My name is Harry Potter. My Mum died stopping Voldemort from killing me and then..." Harry trailed off at Missouri's stare.

"Oh. My," said Missouri.

"What?" Demanded John, noticing the odd look which had passed between his son and Missouri.

Missouri turned to John, speaking reverently, "Lily Potter died almost the same way Mary did, protecting her baby boy. And nobody knows why Harry lived."

Dean had leaned forward to look at Harry again, feeling a kinship he had heretofore not shared with his new brother. "A demon killed Harry's other mom?" He asked. His anger seemed to have abated to be replaced by confusion and something else Harry couldn't define.

"Not a demon. But he wasn't human anymore. Not by a long shot," Missouri replied. "He was the most powerful dark wizard in a generation. We didn't have much trouble here, but they did in Europe. And Harry ended it, somehow."

"But..." John said slowly, trying to wrap his head around the impossible. "Harry was a baby when that woman...when, Lily, died."

"Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived. No one knows why he did..."

"Dumbledore reckons it's because my Mum died for me. She didn't need to-Voldemort would have let her go. And it turns out she wasn't even my real mother...But she wouldn't get out of the way..." Harry said, sadness clouding his voice.

Missouri was nodding again. "Baby, I guess that she went through so much to have you, you were the whole world to her. Don't you let anyone tell you she wasn't your mama. Maybe it was fate that led Lily to Mary, but nothing ever happened in Mary's life that was an accident. I'm guessing that Lily was like Mary that way. I wish Mary had known that Lily was using one of her embryos. When Lily died, Mary would have come and gotten you, if she'd 'a known." Missouri turned to John for confirmation, "Wouldn't she?"

John nodded. "Yeah. We would have Harry." John was imagining the argument they would have had. The one Mary would have won.

Harry's mind snapped back to the present. "Miss?" He said urgently, praying she'd believe him where others had not. "I have to tell you, _He's_back."

"Who's back?" Missouri leaned forward, to meet Harry's eyes in that hard, assessing stare that she had which seemed to go right through him. It reminded Harry of Professor Snape, he felt certain that she too could read his mind.

The memory of the cemetery flashed through Harry's mind. Peter Pettigrew. Cedric dying without so much as an outcry. Voldemort rising from the cauldron. The Death Eaters' laughter. The faces of his Mum and Dad. Somehow he couldn't stop the memories rolling through his mind as long as he was looking at Missouri.

"Voldemort," Harry whispered, before his eyes rolled up in their sockets.

"Catch him, John!" said Missouri as Harry slumped over sideways. She had him by the other side. Dean stood up quickly and got out of the way.

"What happened?" cried John as he helped Missouri lay Harry down.

Missouri pulled a blanket off the back of the couch. "My fault," she said placidly, inwardly chastising herself for not being more careful.

It was hard to remember that the boy was only fourteen years old; he seemed to hold the whole world on his young shoulders. "Got impatient. I'm afraid I pushed a little harder than I should have. He'll be all right in a bit."

John gave her a skeptical look.

"Well, he won't be any worse than when you got him," she said wryly, hoping that John would not press the issue. If looks could kill, she'd be a shade right now.


	19. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter

**A/N:** co-written and co-beta'd by paganaidd. Check out her stories (direct link can be found on my profile page).

If you do happen to find mistakes, please send me a PM so that I can rectify them.

I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading, favoriting, and following this story. I would also like to thank everyone who has sent reviews and/or PMs encouraging me to continue the story, and letting me know that, in general, you like and have not forgotten the story. I know it has been a LONG while, and do apologize for that.

Though Harry and the Winchesters are not featured in this chapter, it is an important one. I hope that you enjoy it. Thank you once again, darkorangecat.

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Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

The castle was empty when Remus finally, wearily made his way up the front steps to make his report to Dumbledore. He felt an odd sense of relief when, upon seeking entrance to the headmaster's office, he was told by the gargoyle that Dumbledore was at the Ministry in another interminable meeting with Fudge.

Remus wrote a quick note, stating that they'd successfully dropped off Dumbledore's package and Remus was going to be home, should the Headmaster need anything else delivered. The irritation Remus felt over the whole thing was expressed by his sarcasm.

None of this sat well with the werewolf. The Harry he'd left at the Winchesters was not the Harry Remus knew and loved. The boy had been exhausted, of course. The debacle at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been horrendous. And naturally, he could be expected to be upset at being removed from his guardian's home, the only family he'd ever known, but Remus had never seen Harry so frightened or …defeated?

The things that Harry was upset about were rather odd, too, now that Remus thought about it. Rather than being sad that his natural family was taken away, Harry had needed reassurances that his friends still loved him. As though, if he wasn't the son of James and Lily, they would abandon him no matter what bonds of friendship had been forged.

Remus found himself considering once again, something that Sirius had told him after his escape from the Ministry. About how, on the night Harry had met Sirius, Sirius had offered to take the boy to live with him. Remus had always assumed that Harry had agreed in the giddiness of meeting his father's friends, but for the first time, Remus began to wonder about the boy's home situation.

Come to think of it, there had been something that Minerva had mentioned when Remus was teaching about Harry having run away from home after an argument. The Muggles had not wanted Harry to come back that summer. Remus had thought that they had simply needed some time to cool their tempers.

This train of thought had him also remembering the comments Molly had made at the last Order meeting. She had always seemed rather disapproving of Dumbledore's choice of guardians for Harry, but she was a Pureblood, after all. Arthur's fondness for Muggles, notwithstanding, she'd never had much contact with the nonmagical world. Remus thought she was a bit of an overly-protective mother whose heartstrings were too easily tugged.

At the time, she had said that she didn't feel it was a good idea to leave Harry at the Dursley's all summer. "I think they don't take care of Harry as they should," she'd said.

"Molly, I've explained this," Dumbledore had said patiently, but with finality. "They do not spoil the boy, no. But, they are his family. I'm sure when he explains the events of this past year, they'll be supportive."

Molly had sniffed disdainfully and exchanged a dark look with her husband.

Remus sighed, realizing that he needed to track down Molly and ask her exactly what she had meant.

He felt in his pocket for the package of potions. Another mystery.

Well, this mystery had, in fact, a ready solution. When Remus had taken the package out and examined it closely, his werewolf sense of smell had detected the telltale trace of Snape's scent, as well as Dumbledore's.

Remus knocked on the door of Snape's personal quarters, fully intending not to leave until he'd gained some answers.

Snape answered after the second knock. "Oh. It's you," he said coldly, as he opened the door, wand in hand. "What do you want?"

Snape looked dreadful, reminding Remus very strongly of his own reflection, after a full moon. His eyes were red rimmed and his already-thin face pinched.

"I need a word with you, Severus," Remus said politely, trying not to look shocked as his sensitive nose caught the scent of firewhisky and tobacco.

Remus had never been inside Severus' quarters before. Curiously, Remus directed his gaze over the man's shoulder.

The room was furnished in tasteful greys with only a hint of the Slytherin green one might expect. On one end was the floor to ceiling bookshelves that all the teacher's apartments sported. In front of that was a tall table, like a bar in a pub, which featured a collection of liquor bottles, glasses and a glass dish that a thin stream of smoke issued from.

Snape stared at him coldly, "I have no interest in conversation with you."

Renus was unruffled, Snape never wanted to talk to him. Well, to anyone really, outside of business. The year Remus had worked at Hogwarts, he had noticed that Snape seldom even took part in the other teachers' conversations and never spoke about anything more personal than Quidditch.

It had occurred to Remus on more than one occasion, that Snape's existence was terribly lonely. Quite as lonely as Remus' own. He'd seen him in the company of the Malfoy family of course, but he doubted the relationship was more than one of convenience.

The only thing that ever seemed to hold any passion for Snape was potions. As a brewer he was an unqualified genius. There were maybe ten wizards in Britain that could correctly brew the Wolfsbane potion. It was due to this that Remus had a supply; he could never have otherwise afforded it. He knew werewolves who would save up for single dose for a year or more. Dumbledore had Snape brewing for Remus every full moon. Remus actually doubted Dumbledore could have gotten Snape to agree if it wasn't for the fact that Snape enjoyed the sheer act of creating the thing.

Add to this, Snape was a really excellent potions teacher. It was not a passion, but certainly a point of pride. His students hardly ever made less than "Acceptable" on their exams and they'd not had any serious injuries in potions class since the man had taken over from old Slughorn. His temper did not endear him to his students, but as he himself had pointed out, his job was to teach, "Preferably, without physical casualties," he would sneer.

In some ways Snape's coldness and hostility were far less bothersome to Remus than other people he could name. Snape was one person who had actually been wronged by Remus and his friends. Most people who hated Remus did so purely because of his malady.

"I'm afraid I must insist Severus," Remus said firmly, matching Snape's hostility with a bit of the wolf's growl. "I need some answers. And I will not leave this castle until you see me. So, unless you want me lurking in wait for you, we will talk now."

"Hmph. All right, Lupin," Snape said, after a moment of thought. "Come in, then." Snape turned on his heel and strode back into the room behind him. Remus' shock deepened as he realized the cold Potions Master had _staggered_, the tiniest bit, when he turned.

"Severus?" said Lupin, "Are you…? Have you been drinking?"

"Yes," the man replied curtly, picking up the cigarette that had been burning in an ashtray on the bar, the source of that thin stream of smoke. "Quite a bit, actually. Join me?" Snape pulled another glass out of the cupboard and splashed some whiskey from the bottle into it. "I'm usually a solitary drunk, but perhaps this is a special occasion," he snarled, taking a long drag from his cigarette

"When did you take up smoking?" asked Remus taking the proffered glass of firewhiskey, more because he didn't want it thrown at him than out of any desire to drink with the man.

"When I was a teenager, of course," bit out Snape. "When does anyone pick up these filthy habits? It's not as though I need worry about contracting cancer, now is it?" Snape put out his cigarette in the ashtray and shook another one out of the packet with a practiced air.

After lighting it, he glanced at Remus. "Oh, I'm forgetting my manners," he said ironically. He held the packet out towards Remus, in offering, "Fag?"

Remus just stared at Snape, not knowing if he should take the man seriously. Snape shook the packet, evidently expecting an answer. "No, thank you, Severus," said Remus, thoroughly nonplussed.

"Suit yourself," muttered the man, putting the pack down and picking up his drink.

Remus took a deep breath, endeavoring to take control of the conversation, "Listen, I wanted to ask you about Harry. I…."

He never finished. At the mention of Harry, Snape moved more quickly than Remus would have thought a man in his condition could move. He dropped his drink (although not his lit cigarette), and snatched up his wand. He lunged forward, grabbing the neck of Remus' robe and held his wand up under Remus' chin. "What did you and your filthy friends do to me in our fifth year, right after our OWL's? And why did Lily never speak to me again?" he hissed.

Remus swallowed, Snape looked quite deranged. "James hung you upside down, by the lake. You called Lily a mudblood. She…she was very hurt. You were friends before that but…"

Snape sagged. "We were more than that," he said in a soft, desolate voice, his wand still under Remus chin. "And you…you and your friends were supposed to protect her…"

A deadly light kindled in Snape's eyes. Cold, and more threatening than the near madness of a second ago.

Snape took his hand off Remus' robe to take another drag and blew smoke into Remus' face. "You know, I could always tell Dumbledore that I thought you were a Death Eater disguised…I could tell him you were a little slow answering. It's not as though anyone from the Ministry would look too deeply into the death of a werewolf." His low, silky voice was roughened by smoke and thick with menace.

Remus stared into Snape's cold eyes, suddenly fearful of the man as he'd never been before. With Snape's wand at his throat, Remus' superior speed and reflexes would not be much help. He could throw the man off, but possibly not before Snape could get off a nonverbal spell. "Severus…" he began, slowly, looking to distract the man so he could reach his own wand.

Snape removed his wand, suddenly turning away. "Doesn't matter," he said, stowing his wand in his robes. Picking up his glass, he refilled it, tossed the whiskey down his throat in one go, and then threw the glass at the fireplace.

"You know, my old man used to beat the shite outta me if 'e caught me with 'is fags," Snape said almost conversationally. Remus sat down slowly, as Snape's cultured baritone turned to gravelly working class, "And she hated the bloody things. She never let me kiss 'er if I'd been smoking. For her, I'da quit."

Snape turned around. Remus was astonished to see the black eyes bright with unshed tears. "What did you want?" he asked flatly.

"I wanted to talk to you about Dumbledore's arrangements for Harry. I'm not happy with them," Remus said reigning in both his temper and his disquiet at Snape's uncharacteristic behavior.

Snape swore with that factory floor accent again. He walked over to the bar, but rather than pouring another whiskey, he picked up a light blue liquor in an ornate bottle. "Waste a' bloody whiskey," he muttered. When Snape uncorked the bottle, Remus caught the distinct scent of sea ice and snowy air. Snape poured a good measure into a glass that contained a small stone, drinking it as quickly as he had the last glass of fire whiskey.

A long moment passed. The potion master sighed. When he looked back at Remus, his eyes were clear again. Also, he didn't smell so overwhelmingly of alcohol to Remus' werewolf senses.

"All right, Lupin." Snape's voice had regained its' polish. "Tell me, what is so terribly important that you must interrupt my leisure activities? As if I have the slightest interest in the personal life of Mr. Potter…Or perhaps we should more properly call him Mr. Winchester." Snape's voice held its familiar sneer.

Remus took the package of potions out of his pocket. "Perhaps you would explain these?" He held it up under Snape's nose.

Snape stared at the package as though it would bite him. "Where did you get that?" he whispered venomously. With the lessoning of the odor of alcohol, Remus now caught the smell of fear.

"I take it you know what it is?" asked Remus mildly, his hand was in his pocket now, on his own wand. Just in case.

"Of course, I know what it is," snarled Snape, he reached out to grab it, but Remus snatched it back out of reach.

Remus drew his wand now, holding Snape off. "What is it, Severus? And why did Dumbledore want Harry to receive it once weekly for a condition that we both know to be fiction."

"How many doses did you leave there?" demanded Snape.

"None."

Snape sagged again, this time apparently with relief. "How many vials are in the package?"

"Nine." Replied Remus, with a glance at the package.

Snape nodded, closing his eyes, "Just one, then. Probably that bastard gave it to him himself."

Remus felt his face go white. Snape's drinking binge was, perhaps, making sense. "Is this something Voldemort had planned? Did you create a potion on his orders?" Remus knew better than anyone how dangerous Snape's role as spy was. Remus' own spying was restricted to spying among the werewolves, not in Voldemort's inner circle. If Snape had been ordered to create a poison, Snape may not have had any choice but to do it.

Remus' mind went into overdrive, could a Death Eater have indeed impersonated Dumbledore, in order to slip the poison to Harry? Perhaps Voldemort himself had...

"Not the Dark Lord," rasped Snape, interrupting Remus' thoughts. "That other bastard."

"What?" Remus demanded. Snape had stopped making sense again.

"Bloody Dumbledore." Snape lit another cigarette with a shaky hand. "Bloody Dumbledore," he repeated.

"What does the potion do?" Remus asked, hoping that this time Snape would answer his question.

He pushed aside the feelings of anger and betrayal that Snape's revelation had engendered. Dumbledore, not Voldemort, had ordered Snape to make whatever this potion was, and then tried to deceive him and the boy's family into giving it to Harry. He was more than a little worried as to what the potion was, given Snape's self-debasement, as well as the profound relief that registered when Remus indicated that he hadn't left the potions with John Winchester.

"It's a magical suppressant," Snape answered.

He took a long drag of his cigarette. To Remus it looked almost like Snape was trying to drown himself. Finally, with a dramatic air, he exhaled; the plume of smoke rapidly escaping his lungs clouded the air between them.

Remus waved a hand in front of his face, wrinkling his sensitive nose at the acrid smell. He knew that it would linger in his hair, his clothing, and that he'd have to bathe to rid himself of it.

"A magical suppressant?" Remus echoed, uncertain he'd heard correctly.

Snape nodded, casting a crooked grin at him, flicking the ash from the tip of his cigarette with a twitch of his finger. "Yes, you heard me correctly Lupin," Snape said. "The old man had me brew up a batch for our little wizarding hero. Seems he didn't trust the boy to keep his abilities under wraps in the presence of his new _family_." Disgust was evident in Snape's voice.

"And you just gave it to him?" Remus asked. Incredulity was evident in his voice.

Snape's nostrils flared and he turned in his seat to face Remus head on. If he could have, Remus would have retracted his words, but there was no time for that now. Snape's glare should be registered as an unforgiveable at the ministry, Remus thought uncomfortably as the wizard stared at him, saying nothing. Smoke, rising from the forgotten cigarette, curled around Snape's head, giving him the appearance of a fire breathing dragon.

"I tried to dissuade the Headmaster," Snape said after a long moment during which Remus' life flashed before his eyes. "But he would hear none of it. Said he'd thought it all through," Snape continued, pausing only to take another drag of the cigarette, savoring the drug, keeping it in his lungs far longer than Remus thought was strictly healthy. "Bastard said that he'd weighed all the possibilities, and that this was the only way."

"I'm sorry Severus," Remus said. "Do you think the Headmaster has been compromised?"

It was the only explanation which made sense to him. Or at least the only explanation he was willing to consider. He admired Dumbledore, looked up to him. The man had offered him a job when no one else would. Granted, it had been due to circumstances which suited the Headmaster's particular needs at the time.

And now, his dangerous position as a spy among other werewolves was also one uniquely suited to him, and one which benefitted the Headmaster greatly. He refused to believe what the evidence was pointing him toward believing – that Dumbledore was manipulating him and others, utilizing them as puppets for some grand scheme that only he could see the end results of.

Snape gave a bark of laughter, shaking his head. He jabbed the cigarette in Remus' direction to make his point as he spoke, "No, Lupin, the Headmaster has not been compromised. He is truly doing what he believes to be best for Harry. For us all. As always."

Remus drew in a shaky breath as he was forced to face reality. Dumbledore had crossed a very dangerous line. He might not be as knowledgeable about potions as Snape was, but even he knew that the potion the Headmaster had asked Snape to make was illegal, and that, if taken over a long enough period of time, say, over the course of a summer, it could suppress one's magic for the rest of his natural life.

"Snape," Remus said guardedly, "if what you're saying is true then…"

"I'm not lying," Snape defended.

"Then we've got to take steps to protect Harry, not only from he-who-must-not-be-named, but also from Dumbledore," Remus said, eyeing the tumbler of amber liquid he'd placed on the coffee table after Snape had threatened him.

Snape raised a single eyebrow, and pointed his cigarette at him before taking another drag, and letting the smoke out in a lazy arching circle that floated above their heads. "Be careful what you say," Snape said, "it has been said that the castle," he paused dramatically, lips quirking up sardonically, "has ears. Perhaps it would be best to adjourn, and have this particular conversation elsewhere."

Snape waved his wand hand in the air, muttering something beneath his breath that Remus couldn't quite hear. Remus felt the distinct change in the air which indicated that magic had been performed. If he wasn't mistaken, and he doubted that he was, Snape had erected a brief privacy charm which would enable them to speak somewhat freely. It still wasn't completely safe, but it would do for now, until they found a place where Dumbledore had little to no influence.

Hogwarts halls and private chambers bent to the current headmaster's will, and could hold no secrets from the one currently in charge of the castle. It had been spelled into the very bricks and foundation of the castle by the four founders themselves as a protection and precaution for students, staff and the headmasters. The magic had protected, not only the castle, but also countless headmasters from an early demise plotted by a disgruntled staff member or student.

But sometimes, as in this case, the precaution taken by the founders did a disservice to those it ultimately strived to protect – the innocent.

"I thought you didn't care for Harry," Remus said. He fingered the tumbler, relishing the coolness of the condensation.

"I don't," Snape snorted, smashing the end of his cigarette into the heel of his boot, before discarding the diminished fag, "but, I'll be damned if I let her sacrifice for the brat be in vain."

Remus eyed him for a long moment before plucking up the tumbler of firewhisky and downing it in one go. The fiery liquid licked a scalding path down the back of his throat as it made its way into his stomach where it churned and broiled, giving him the overall effect of a kick start of adrenaline.

"Then we're agreed," he said, holding Snape's steely gaze.

Snape inclined his head, and Remus let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "Who else should we inform?" he asked.

"McGonagall, the Weasleys," Snape said after a thoughtful silence. "They seem to be just as disillusioned by Dumbledore as we are."

Remus nodded. "What about Sirius?" he asked.

"The mutt?" Snape sneered, and Remus steeled himself for more invectives, knowing that, even as he was weary of Snape and Sirius' dislike of each other after all these years, it was a hatred that Sirius had well-earned. So, when Snape merely sneered, and seemed to think upon his suggestion seriously, Remus was surprised. After a heartbeat, the potion master nodded. "I wonder, though, if he still holds love for the former Potter." Snape cast him an assessing look.

"Your hatred for Harry seems intact, in spite of this most recent revelation that he is not the son of James Potter," Remus said carefully, "what makes you think that those who loved him before this will love him any less?"

"Touché," Snape conceded with a tilt of his head that caused his dark locks to obscure his face.

"Anyone else?" Remus asked.

"Perhaps," Snape said, seeming to gather his thoughts, "it would not be unwise to include the boy's friends. They've always been thick as thieves, and would no doubt be able to offer us some insight into the way the boy thinks."

Remus nodded. "Maybe they'll be able to shed some light into his previous home life as well," he said.

Snape stiffened at his words, his lips curling in their usual sneer when it came to talk of such things. "I trust you are referring to precious Potter's; I mean Harry's," Snape corrected himself, "pampered life with the Dursleys?"

"Severus," Remus' voice held a touch of warning in it, "let's not start down this road now. I'm not sure what to think of what I witnessed when I escorted Harry to America, and maybe it was because he'd been dosed with the suppressant, but, given Molly's and Minerva's expressed misgivings, I rather think it would be remiss of us not to at least look into it."

"What do you mean?" asked Snape. He hadn't lost the sneer, but there was less of an edge to his voice.

"I'm not even sure about any of this," Remus hesitated, "but, I think that Harry's life at the Dursleys may not have been as pampered as you, or I, believed it to be."

Remus could tell that Snape was at least considering what he'd said by the way the man's jaw twitched, but he knew that it would take hard, cold facts to prove to Snape that his notions about Harry's life were unfounded. It wouldn't be easy.

He too thought that Molly had been exaggerating. He'd seen nothing the year he'd taught the Gryffindor to indicate that he was being mistreated, but he knew, from personal experience, as apparently did Snape if the man's drunken ramblings bespoke the truth, that those who suffered from abuse at the hands of their relatives were experts at hiding what happened in the confines of their homes from those on the outside.

It was a basic instinct of self-preservation – don't tell, and you won't get into trouble; tell, and things will get worse. Not telling maintained the status quo, made it easier to deal with what was happening, and made the possibility of rejection nonexistent. No one could ridicule you, or dismiss you as a liar if you didn't say anything, or shrugged off an injury as clumsiness or a minor accident. Hiding what was really happening at home made you feel safe. Remus could understand that, and so could Snape.

"That remains to be proven," Snape replied, losing some of his sneer. "We need to get word to the others and meet, preferably before _he _returns to the castle."

"When is he scheduled to return?" asked Remus.

"In a few days' time," said Snape. "He was, as always, vague. Likes to keep us on our toes."

"Then we'd best meet tomorrow, at the latest," said Remus. He would propose meeting tonight, but was beyond exhaustion after his long journey, and he could see that, in spite of whatever potion Snape had taken to clear his drunken fog, the man was as tired and emotionally spent as he.

"And where do you propose we meet?" asked Snape, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

After a few seconds of thought, Remus smiled as the perfect place came to him. It wasn't that far from the castle, and yet was not subject to the same wards as the castle. It had protections, yes, but they were of a rather different nature. Instead of informing the Headmaster who had erected the building of everything that occurred inside of it, it preserved the privacy of the one who'd been monthly incarcerated in it.

"The Shrieking Shack," he said, grimacing at the memories that the mere mention of the dilapidated building brought to mind.

The sharp intake of breath and slight scent of fear that permeated the air were not lost on Remus. He knew that Snape had his own bad memories of the place, but, the potion master simply nodded.

"I'll notify McGonagall and the Granger girl," Snape said. "I trust that you'll take care of the mutt, and I think we both know that the Weasleys will be more inclined to listen to you than to me."

"Yes," Remus said, struggling to keep a smile off his face.

He could imagine how Sirius would respond to Snape's invitation to join him at the Shrieking Shack, and it wasn't a pretty thought. The Weasleys might be more inclined to listen, but not by much. Though they respected Dumbledore's decision to keep Snape in the Order, it was clear that they didn't trust the man, and now that they were about to go behind the back of their leader, he wondered what else would come to the fore. What else had Dumbledore done to further his own personal agenda, which had put Harry, and others, in danger? Just who of Dumbledore's confidantes could they trust, and who couldn't they trust?

"So, tomorrow afternoon?" Snape's voice brought Remus out of his musings.

"Tomorrow," Remus said, putting aside his misgivings for later.

Tomorrow, they would get to the bottom of this. Tomorrow, Remus would know whether or not Snape and the others could be trusted. Until then, he needed sleep.

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As always, reviews are highly valued.


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